


Hogwarts’ super exclusive, very hush-hush, night club (and how to find it).

by ZoeBen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Makeover, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin is So Done, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeBen/pseuds/ZoeBen
Summary: Try to convince me that in a spooky, old, ghost-hunted castle brimming with witches and wizards, there wasn’t at least one illegal night club. And if our favorite BAMF werewolf needed to strap himself into a pair of tight leather trousers and fake a crush on his best friend in order to get in? well, such is life.Do we need another fake relationship fic? Yes, yes we do.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 36
Kudos: 60





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting, YAY! I had a terrible writing block on an Au I am currently working on and decided a fluffy little wolfstar number would be a surefire way to get my juices flowing. Preferably, one with (at least) some clichés, so I could breeze through it.  
> Only, lo and behold! I have zero self - control and it turned into a multi - chapter fic. I apologize for nothing.
> 
> P.S. English is not my native language, be kind.

prologue

we sat in utter stillness, it seemed not one of us was willing to break the delicate balance in the candle-lit room. We saw no way around it. _I_ saw no way around it. And yet we were not willing to admit what was laid out before our eyes, even if it _was_ outstretched and highlighted.

Heck, the damn thing was color coded, mocking us with its bluntness.

In the end, it was Peter who spoke first. His eyes flitted over the large X, inked into the torn-up sheet between us - “Gents, I reckon we’ll have to come out!”

James, forearms braced loosely over his knees, nodded his assent. “it’s the only way.”

“s’true.” Sirius shrugged.

I closed my eyes; hissing words I knew I’d soon regret “who is it going to be?”

When I braced myself enough to open my eyes again, I was not remotely surprised to discover the rest of the marauders were blinking owlishly back at me.

Bugger.

I take one last look at James’s sheet-made-into-a-planning-scheme and submerge the urge to curse the boy into bits.

“I hate you.”


	2. The O.G.P.T.S.P

**Chapter 1 – The O.G.P.T.S.P**

My sixth year, also known as the uncontrollable vortex of misunderstandings and (very) _uncomfortable_ events started innocently enough. I excelled my O.W.L.s and was looking forward to two years of hard studying with the occasional prank thrown in the mix.

In other words, I was going to have a relatively normal and uneventful year. I was.

Until I didn't.

My first clue regarding the upcoming misfortunes arrived by owl post, a few days after my grades; I'd received a letter from my barmy friends that read as follows:

_Moon of ~~my~~ our lives,_

_PLEASE FIND OUT WHAT IS O.G.P.T.S.P!_

_P.S. Padfoot left his home in favor of the superb and most badass house of Potter._

_Start searching,_

_Messers Padfoot, Prongs & Wormtail._

Needless to say, I had not an inkling as to what O.G.P.T.S.P could possibly mean, and with no further context could hardly be expected to come up with any viable results.

My friends strongly disagreed.

"What do you mean you didn't even _look?'_ James demanded (not at all shrilly) on September 1.

The train was howling for us to get aboard, however, all three of my friends found it much more impertinent that they shall glare daggers in my general vicinity.

"Contrary to common belief, I am not a walking - talking encyclopedia. I do not spur facts on a random basis." I said dryly, trying to force my luggage pass the human wall my friends had turned into.

"that _was_ a random fact." Peter groaned.

Retrospectively, being outwitted by Wormtail was not a promising start to the upcoming year. Retrospectively, I am an idiot.

"Can we just - OUCH – can we – urgh for the love of - discuss this very _tantalizing_ tale inside?" I hissed, dropping my trunk on my toes, twice.

"You're deceptively weak, did you know that?" Sirius blurted, tactful as ever. He did, however, reached for my trunk, and as such I only felt slightly inclined to laugh in his face when he visibly cringed.

"Godric mate, what is in this thing? Your collection of rocks?"

I helped Sirius help me as we combined our strength to lift up my trunk. Over the brown leather, I flashed him my sweetest smile –"encyclopedias "

***

I did not give my friends' O.G.P.T.S.P antics much thought until halfway through my prefect meeting, where I was trying my hardest to sit straight, listen _and_ ignore the filthy glares from my fellow prefects.

No marauder was a welcome sight in this compartment, not even one with a shiny pin.

"- Besides patrols, we were also asked to assign two prefect from each house on _entrance_ watch." Kingsley, the head boy, read off of his chart. He had a dragon boot made of black scales perched on one of the stalls and was casually leaning over it.

" _Entrance_ watch?" Lily asked, not one to miss a bit "don't you mean exit watch?"

"No, Evans, I mean two prefect from each house will be assigned to guard the entrance to their common room, from the _inside._ That way, they can see who tries to sneak past them _and_ who comes in, and when."

"But _why_?"

"Have any reason to snick out, Evans?" Nott, the Slytherin fifth year prefect, taunted.

That was when I saw it. Lily rolled her eyes and flung her hair out of her eyes, and right there on her left hand was a faded, yet visible, G.

I trailed the back of her hand - some of the letters were wiped, but if I narrowed my eyes I could just make out the O.G.P.T.S.P. stamp.

"Problem, Lupin?" she snapped, wrinkling her nose. Common prefect duties aside, there was no love lost between Lily Evans and the marauders (with the exception of James, who asked the red head’s hand in marriage on more than one occasion).

"I, er, like your ring."

I like her ring? Merlin, why not compliment her nail polish and be done with it?

I blushed scarlet all through the rest of the meeting, avoiding Lily's curious glances.

***

"I know what is the O.G.P.T.S.P!" I declared proudly and a tad too loudly as I flung myself through the door to the last compartment on the train. " It's a c-"

I stopped dead in my tracks. Three of Hogwarts most eligible bachelors were sitting on the floor, surrounding a formidable mountain of liquorice wands and pumpkin pasties, stuffing their faces.

"club." I finished lamely.

***

"I heard about it last year." James informed us over the welcome feast table, "Marlene and Prewett were talking about it in the Quidditch locker room. Changed the subject when I asked."

"Doesn't sound like you not to pester," I commented, filling my plates with enough food to rival my body weight. It's the werewolf thing, you see, I tend to eat like a famished man 26 days in a month, and close to nothing for the rest.

"I figured it was a code that meant they were shagging or something, and I had Quidditch to think about." James shrugged, eyeing my plate with amounting interest. He had the I'd-like-to-poke-a-needle-in-you scientist look about him.

"Can't be shagging." Sirius added, he too was drinking in my appetite, albeit, with apparent amusement. Sometimes it marveled me; how Sirius could find the joke in _anything._ How he made everyone else see it too."Marlene's gay."

"But by the time she came out last year I'd forgotten all about it. "

"So many pranks to plan, so little time." Sirius soothed, nodding his head in empathy.

"Exactly! but _then_ Peter wrote to me over the summer about his cousin –"

"The one that goes to Beauxbatons, overheard her floo call with some _Nigel_ bloke-"

"you remember him? Ravenclaw, flamboyant, transferred to France -"

"-told her that O.G.P.T.S.P is quote on quote all the rage over here."

I listened to my friends stumble over each other's words and mulled it over. I have to admit, I am possibly, could be, very much hooked. What can I say? My maradure-istic morbid fascination rears its head in the oddest of times.

"I'd say Nigel's description makes my club suggestion even _more_ plausible."

"Had no doubt in my mind you'd be the one to crack it." Sirius boasted, clapping me on the shoulder. The gesture would have been a lot nicer if he didn't nearly push me onto my plate in the process.

That's Sirius for you, always unaware of his beater's ~~body~~ strength.

"I don't know, how can there be a club that _we_ don't know about?" Peter countered.

"Point." James said, waving his fork in Peter's direction.

"Maybe it's a _theme_ club?" I suggested, "Then we wouldn't have heard about it if we're not, you know, _into_ _it_?"

It takes me three seconds to process James and Sirius gleeful smiles in order to realize I've just opened a can of worms.

***

"Maybe it's a fan - club?" Peter suggested, it was a bit of a stretch but honestly, after a week worth of guessing it was the least ridiculous idea any of us suggested in _days_.

James sent the boy strutting before us a considerate peek "could be."

"Are you actually suggesting that Padfoot has a super exclusive fan club? And that Evans is in it?" I deadpanned.

"yeah, get off it Prongs." Sirius drawled, "everyone knows my fan – club is named The Sirius Black's Love Circle and they meet every other Thursday. Lovely folks, gave me a customized parchment once."

***

"Okay, we're all thinking it so I'm just going to say it," Sirius announced during our first weekend back, causing the three of us to look up expectantly from our respectable places on the common room's rug. "BDSM?"

I snort, unable to contain my skepticism. "Again, I ask – Evans?"

"I'd buy it." Peter shrugged, avoiding the magicked pillow James bashed into his face.

"Everyone knows prefects are kinky little buggers." Sirius agreed wickedly, and the devilish smirk he sent my way absolutely did not cause me to squirm. That'd be preposterous.

"har har, did any of you thought this could be a study club? " I asked, painfully aware that it wasn't exactly a denial on my part.

Sirius, the smug bastard, sprawled over the rug, his head inches away from my lap. "And what kind of study club is _all the rage,_ humm?"

"You did say that Nigel was a Ravenclaw."

"And Marlene and Prewett? Two of the most stereotypical, Gryffindors, Quidditch players _ever?"_

Okay, so he got me there. Those two wouldn't open a book if their life dependent on it. Unless..

"could be a _dirty_ book club"

Neither of us were totally sold on that option, mainly because Sirius was adamant that I would have been named chairman by now (and I couldn't quite deny that either).

"Mates, come on, we are the marauders, can't be we won't work it out." James said rubbing his hands, "what could a prefect, two Quidditch players and a flamboyant Ravenclaw have in common?"

"the potential to become a truly terrible knock knock joke.'

***

"An all hate Slytherin club?"

"A muggle knitting circle?"

"A rodeo joint!"

I fight the urge to drown myself into my cereals while Sirius and James keep proposing one idea after the other, each more farfetched then the last.

"A house-elves liberation front!"

"A _centaur_ liberation front."

"An I heart centaurs fronts front."

I gaze up from the pit of guessing despair that I have sunk so thoroughly into when a giggle catches my ear.

Marlene nudged Fabian Prewett, calling the boy's attention away from his twin. None too subtly she pointed over to the Hufflepuff table, where Kingsley was demonstrating how to perform a chock hold for his pure-blooded friends.

His body took as much space as it did during his head boy duties; he was moving in an unquestionable authoritarian, yet off-handed, manner. The defined muscles in his arms were quite noticeable as he flexed them over and over…

"W-what about a _gay_ club?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> review? help me improve my writing :)


	3. Pillow talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pst, reader, pst…Ola!
> 
> I did some inspirational re-reading this week, and let me tell you, Ray Bradbury and Neil Gaiman make for STRANGE bedfellows. 
> 
> However, Pillow talk survived the labor - a healthy, slightly wacky, 2017 words baby - chapter! 
> 
> P.S. Check the endnotes for some audience participation, eh?

**Pillow talk**

(A marauder’s perspective on the prefecture. The creation of the sheet-plan. A way in).

Suffices to say, my friends latched on to my idea like barnacles to a boat, and for four self-proclaimed straight boys, we were oddly riveted by the possibilities it held. 

A _gay_ club. Better yet _, a secret_ gay club _._ A secret _,_ evidently _rave-worthy_ gay club _that no one talked about._ Merlin, it was practically _Taboo._

We simply had to find it.

James on his part said it explained a lot. Primarily, why Evans refused his advances over and over. And, while devastated at first, his ego won out in the end, declaring that “I am too much of a man for her, it makes sense!”

“Cheers Prongs,” Sirius, being the gentle, considerate sort, felt it impertinent to put his twopence in, “there is no telling, she might just be a hag. I bet there are lots of reasons she won’t come near you.” 

Oddly enough, James wasn’t exactly mollified by the sentiment, and, in fact, proceeded to frown for nearly three consecutive hours. 

“What _I_ want to know,” Peter whispered during our next potion class, “is if it really _is_ a gay club.”

“True, we can’t be sure Prewett is a poof.”

“I am telling you; he checked Kingsley out.”

“ _Everybody_ checks him out.” Sirius objected, “he’s a bloody mountain!”

“Enlightening as ever, Padfoot” I sniggered and tried to refocus on chopping the roots in front of me. “We can use the map. See where they go, follow them if need be.”

It was thus decided. Shifts were soon allocated (and argued over) between the four of us – all we had to do was wait.

***

To our great sorrow, map duty was a spectacular fail. Partly because Prongs kept riveting back to the Lily Evans dot during his shifts, and partly because we couldn’t exactly spend days on end, nose deep in a magical parchment, could we?

Padfoot made the rather keen observation that a gay club (and really, any kind of self-respecting club for that matter) would be open during nighttime, presumably on the weekends. Thereupon, we tried to narrow our attention to those time slots, and still, we got next to zero results.

Lily Evans stayed in her room most nights. When she didn’t, she went to prefects’ patrols or stayed up late in the library (“The bird desperately needs me in her life”)

Marlene was spending a suspiciously large amount of time in the astronomy tower, but we all attested to it being a prime snogging session spot, and hence, thought very little on it. 

Prewett was, evidently, fighting James for the Quidditch Fanatic title; killing it on the pitch four nights a week. However, even _with_ his night practices he was normally back in the common room by midnight. 

That was when the sheet happened…

Mind you, it started with Prongs pacing in our dorm, mumbling to himself and scratching his head every so often - “there has to be a way in, there has to!”

Honestly, I reckon we were all too alarmed to intervene. When he pulled his wand out and pointed it to his own bedclothes, searing and tearing the fabric, both me and Wormtail took three full steps back. Immediately, we immersed in an inconspicuous elbows fight, rivaling over the right to use Padfoot as a human shield. 

Sirius just laughed.

***

“Maybe we should take a few days to regroup. I reckon we can all use a break, yeah?” I offer, rather bravely, if I do say so myself. 

“Brilliant plan,” Peter immediately agrees, “take a breather, watch the clouds go by, maybe throw back a calming draught or two.”

James shifted; he’d been crouched down over the torn - up piece of cloth for the better part of the afternoon, muttering to himself with a quill clutched between his teeth.

“Can’t, ah’m workin’” 

“On what? introducing Cubism to interior design? ” I exclaimed, waving my hand over the mess our room had turned into.

A never - ending, shin layer of smoke emanated from James’s fourposter, while colorful bottles of ink were spread haphazardly on his every side; gathered like little worshippers around their giant, bespectacled, ink - stained lord.

He went all out as well; splurging on pastels colors, neon yellows, shady greens, he had a matte burgundy, your run of the mill navy and about ten more I could not name for the life of me. Though, I was promptly calmed by Messer Padfoot that they indeed differentiate from one another, and yes, it _was_ important to own three types of reds, thank you very much.

Me? I had prefect duties with my name written all over them, two rolls of parchments about the prospective malfunctioning of the silent Wingardium Leviosa due in two days, _and_ a full, none too pleasant, body transformation in three.

All of the above left very little time (and patience) to deal with my friend’s mental breakdown, and I felt it was my duty to say as much.

At that, James finally turned to face us. In which point, his face had more paint on it than the sheet he had been so furiously writing on. The reds ended up smeared all over his lips, and I was struck by a memory from my childhood; there is an old drawing done by my mom, hanging over our mantelpiece, depicting Japanese women wearing white powder and scarlet lipstick, serving drinks to weary old men. Said drawing was the first ornament I ever help hanging around the house, and, upon my mother insistence - I was 7 and not allowed to practice magic - I did it the muggle way. After which, she patted my shoulder, saying “some stuff you can spell into place, others require you to do the work.” 

In a manner that could have been achieved solely by those reared to adhere to the codes of chivalry and propriety, James spat the quill from his mouth. 

“Can you dim the lights on your way out?”

***

Some Muggle cultures subscribe to the notion that evil has definitive markers. Indeed, Western societies talk about black cats, certain Fridays and pentagrams. In Japanese, the digit 4 also means death. In the mid- ages, wit in a woman was a grant for a witch hunt.

Wizarding folks also contrive to recognize evil; the goblins believe a single bruised Sickle is a sign for an upcoming doom, centaurs vouch they can read malignant forces in the sky.

They are all wrong.

The true sign of evil is the clipboard.

“Must we use the auto-correct feather?”

It’s a valid question; we sit in awkward silence. Evans with her back hunched up against the wall. Me, on my crochet pillow. Above us floats the charmed clipboard.

“Best way to lists who goes out.”

I roll my eyes up overhead, the scratch, scratch, scratch is mixing with the dimmed sounds of exploding snaps. I wonder what it has to write down, seeing as no student attempted to go near us, or the clipboard from hell, for about an hour.

“still, not exactly stealthy is it?”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

Maybe it doesn’t write names anymore. Maybe the quill is bored out of its mind and it’s just doodling.

I spend a good number of minutes entertaining myself by shifting my body weight from one bum cheek to the other. The pillow helped. It was very smart of me, thinking about the pillow. 

I accosted my backpack with my wand the minute Kingsley signed the entrance duties. Mind, I am not sure how the stylish knitted details came about. Could be the godawful crochet rabbit Sirius gifted me for third year. The prick used a permanent sticking charm so I wouldn’t ~~throw~~ lose it.

In hindsight, I could’ve waited until we arrived in the common room to perform the transfiguration spell. Though, the decision _was_ backed by resound logic.

A. Walking with a fluffy pillow is better for the back and B. I once saw Filch doing rounds in a raggy bathrobe and fuzzy cat - shaped slippers.

Hogwarts’ disciplinary board could do a lot worse than my pillow.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

“Evans…”

“What Lupin?”

“It’s not even curfew yet. “

“So?”

“So, what is it writing?”

“ER…”

“And didn’t Kingsley say we need to be discreet?”

“yes, well, see-”

“I mean, what are we? The monsters awaiting at the threshold? What’s next – Hungarian Horntails? Three - headed dogs waiting to ponce?”

“No, no we aren’t.”

She sniffs and adjusts her sitting. I did offer to share my pillow when we first sat out for our watch. I am feeling quite guilt - free; her refusal, he loss (just as well, though, I could sort of feel my Ancient Runes dictionary poking my lower back). 

“I tell you, the prefecture can do with a bit of stealthiness. “

“Mhm. Put yourself in the mind of law-breakers.”

“Precisely. Maybe even _experiment_ with it.”

“what?’ 

“what? “

We say nothing. The exploding snaps round is over.

The clipboard bobs up and down, once at eye level then back up and up, down, up, scratch, down, scratch, scratch, up… 

“You have no clue how to control it, huh?”

“haven’t the foggiest.”

***

“Moony, psst, Moony, “ The faceless voice whispers urgently in my ear.

“We got us a way in!”

The room is a hazy blur. Not because I’d just woken up in a hospital wing. Daybreaks are simply like that – all soft lights and faded hues. I grunted miserably.

When you’re bitten, you’re sufficiently warned about the excruciating aches you’d experience once monthly, but _no one_ tells you your dormmates would still expect you to wake up in an ungodly hour the following day, _to chat._

“Wormtail…” I tell the boy leaning over my sickbed.

“What is it Moony?” The boy, dutifully asks.

His arms are perched over my torso as he indulges in a feline-like stretch. 

“bugger off.”

“my bad, my bad.”

I convince myself that if Peter doesn’t sound at all sorry, it’s because it’s too bloody early for complex constructs such as remorse.

“Where are the dynamic duo?”

“Oh, that’s why I am here, Prongs reckons he cracked it!”

“It, being his head?”

***

I got back to my room later that day. And, whilst dimmed lighting had become somewhat of a fixture in our dorm in the passing week, the candles were new.

They were cinnamon - scented.

If I was a whistling man, that would’ve been the time for it. 

The candles floated around the room, cased in creme and rose tins. All three of my roommates were seated, cross - legged in a small circle, with Prongs’s madness - sheet squarely in the middle. Our dark - red comforters and pillows were thrown around the floor to provide comfort.

Must be Sirius’s doing. He was uncharacteristically soft for a rebel, that one.

“We start here,” James said as I took my place, motioning to a square near the bottom left corner, containing big neon letters.

It said “ START”.

The scheme became gradually unintelligible from there. Luckily, there was a color - coded key chart.

The loud green blots were locations we confirmed Evans, Marlene and Prewett went to. The burgundy blots were pretty much everywhere else. There were some decently understandable lines, indicating a chronological order of sort, that ran between the blots. Marlene received indigo lines, Prewett was purple and Evans got a disturbingly lavish pink. 

A final set of conclusions was written on the scarce spaces of fabric that remained white.

 _Crowded places. Late hours. Seek potential guests. ~~Out and proud??~~ Stylish ~~blokes~~ students **.**_ Extremely popular.

The pointers were highlighted and each had a question mark to match. All the question marks had a silver line that connected to a large black X in the middle of The Plan.

I read it. I re-read it. I memorized the damn thing, color codes and all. 

There _was_ a way in. It was the only way in. 

It taunted us from underneath the large middle X, written in bold underlined letters.

 ** Infiltrator ** .

“Gents, I reckon we’ll have to come out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming this Saturday: Remus Lupin and the leather trousers! 
> 
> Also, I have a confession… Sometimes… I LOVE me some wolfstar clichés.  
> Other times not so much. 
> 
> Give me a shout out with 1 cliché you’d like to read in here and 1 that you could seriously live without. 
> 
> This can be specific to fake relationship fics or wolfstar in general. 
> 
> Ta!


	4. Remus Lupin and the three fairy godmothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? I am quite pregnant with this fic...
> 
> HOWEVER!!!
> 
> Please notice the added "implied homophobia" tag, which regards the following chapter- mainly, the stereotypical misconceptions of teenage boys.
> 
> Don't lose heart, the "attempt at humor" tag is still going strong :)

**Chapter 3 - Remus Lupin and the three fairy godmothers.**

(The choosing of Remus Lupin. A leather - slipper makeover. The coronation of the pumpkin queen).

Hell is empty and all the devils are here…

I took a lungful of cinnamon-scented air, rushing it out slowly and deliberately. 

“I hate you.”

“Don’t do us like that, mate,” Prongs says, flopping his head from side to side “none of us will sell it like you.”

“Meaning?”

My voice did not tremble, my eyes were not narrowed and above all, I did not hover menacingly over my roommate; I am not a very menacing sort of werewolf. I am more of the drinks-tea-from-a-mug variety. 

“Means you’re…you.”

“Very astute.”

I seek refuge in Wormtail, but the lad is momentarily fixated by a white quill, protruding from the maroon comforter under his palms. 

On an off chance, I look to Padfoot, purely for clarification sake, mind. He meets me head-on, but his lips are locked in a pudgy embrace.

When was the last time Sirius didn’t have a smile on his face? 

Once again, Wormtail called it – “ Moons, you’re mind-boggling scary.”

I blinked.

This came from the boy who taught me how to burp The Jelly Leg Jinx back in first year. The boy that gave me purplish fuzzy socks for my birthday.

My big toe was peeking through one of said socks. I wriggled it.

“I am?” 

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

“Well, I’d be damned.”

I can’t quite explain the grin.

***

“It’s your acting skills.” James said over his shoulder, “the rest of us can’t tell a lie worth a shit.”

“Charm our way out of trouble? No doubt.” Sirius agreed, crouching on his knees.

“Twist the truth, here and there. Keep secrets, absolutely. “Peter hummed, his head lost in a large oak drawer.

“But you, I’d hire to sell blood pops to a Vampire,” James concluded. 

“So, I’m convincing?” I asked, brightening.

“Terrifyingly so.”

“Besides, you got the sarcastic – mysterious thing going for you.”

My roommates ceased rummaging long enough to give Sirius a long, leveled, stare. 

“Ri-ght.” James said eventually, “I reckon what the pillock means is - you’re the marauders’ wild card. And it’s time to play.”

He punctuated his point by flinging my trunk over, spilling robes and sweaters alike. Sirius was similarly purifying our closet from its possessions, and Peter was throwing Y fronts and socks like there was no tomorrow. No garment or undergarment was safe from their clutches. 

Seemingly appeased by the hurdles they had created; the fiends turned their hungry gazes back at me.

In a horror flick, that would’ve been the cue to run. Indubitably, if ever there was a crowd so misfortunate as to view my life on a large screen, or say, scroll through it on their computers, conspicuous amount of popcorn would’ve been thrown in that particular moment.

Undoubtedly, followed by sentiments such as “don’t open that!” and “can’t you see his feet are lurking behind the curtains?”

I gulped.

I saw the feet. I went through the god damn door.

***

“Go over the plan one more time.” James's voice was clear, coming through the small crack between wood and stone.

“We went through it five times, Prongs, I get it.” I muttered-yelped, the result of losing a fight to my zipper.

“Good, then you’ll know it by heart this sixth time.”

The zipper gets caught on black cotton and I curse, whether the little piece of metal or my friend, I am not sure.

“It’s all wrong,” I tell him, viewing myself in the large mirror over the sink.

“That’s why we need to go over i-“

“Not the plan, dimwit, the trousers. They don’t fit.”

“Oh-“

“Put your weight into it,” Sirius shouts, his voice is eerily close to the bathroom door. “Tuck that dad-bod in.”

“I’ll have you know,” I shout back, renewing my struggles,” that I have a perfectly nice belly, which’s completely age-appropriate.” 

Against all odds, I win the second round.

I check out the victoriously grinning lad in my reflection - It is not too bad, I don’t know where Sirius got off making me sound like a middle-aged man; I have perfectly nice raised hipbones, and perfectly healthy weight.

I made my abdominal wall dance, and on the larger scope of things, I reckon it was all perfectly fine.

I almost looked perfectly human… 

I scooped the neglected, green, V shirt-blouse from the tiled floor and thrown it on. I am not sure who it belongs to, but James’s girlfriend back from third year is a strong candidate.

“We start by tweaking my image. ”I announce as I walk out the door, “going by what we do know about the students that were in the club. “

“And you won’t be doing that in Silver and Green. “Sirius snapped, throwing the next option for me to try out.

Hey, I was happy just getting out of the Barbie doll ensemble.

“Go on, “ James implored from his position next to the half-closed door. “What do we know about the students from O.G.P.T.S.P? “

“Evans, Prewett, and Marlene are all popular in their circles “ I said, and boy, I could not pull off orange. The white turtleneck wasn’t great either.

“So was Nigel.” Peter chipped in, leaning up against our windowsill. 

“So am I.” I reminded him. “But that’s not enough. Being a marauder is not enough.” My throat dried out around the words, yet I plowed on. “If it’s a gay club, I’ll have to convince potential guests that I am gay to get in.”

“Are you?”

“I am.” 

“Brilliant, you don’t get more exclusive than a gay Remus Lupin," James clamped my shoulder proudly, pushing a white robe on me I simply refused to degrade my person with. “Do I look like a pimp?”

“you look like a marauder.”

“If it walks like a duck, Prongs, It’s a duc-”

“Be a gay duck.” He demands, cutting me off. “From the top, one last time.”

***

On some level I knew it was there. I had to. I reckon I’ve always known. 

I just chose to ignore it.

Them.

The voices, that is.

They continued on endlessly over my head, and I let them.

The stuffy turtleneck laid forgotten somewhere near my left shin. I leaned back further into my arms, my pelvic sinking deeper into the weirdly cozy stuck of pullovers; I relished the stretch to my lower back.

Urgh. That was the proverbial good stuff, right here.

Now, if I could only unclasp a button or two…

“Padfoot we cannot send him in an all rainbow suit!”

“Why not? it’d be a riot.”

“It’s cliché! Everyone will think we’re behind this.”

“We _are_ behind it.”

“We -ER - wait where will we even get an all rainbow suit?”

“Oy, Pads, Prongsy, how ‘bout a yellow-“

“With his complexion? Get it together Wormtail.”

“That’s it then, no more clothes.”

“ ’e’s right, short of sending Moony with leather pants and an open robe I see no more options.” 

“Why do we own - Wow, easy there tiger, leave some room for the imagination, eh?”

I find it in me to spare them one lift-up eyelid, “Why are you imagining me in the first place?”

“Actually, can we get back to the leather pants idea?” Peter was squatting over the marron comforter, patting here and there. “We just need to give him a bit of flair, yes? Make him a tad more on the fashionable side? A little high - end nudge to better the sell?”

Wormtail lifted his head from the ground, a Cheshire’s smile looming ominously from ear to ear. 

***

There was a pumpkin.

In all fairness the pumpkin was not standing alone. There was, for example, a large black metallic centerpiece with blooming blush pink calla Lilies. There was also a wine-colored curtain, James’s trunk, a dozen hard-cased books and Peter’s cut-open comforter.

And that pumpkin. 

“They told us a story in Muggle Studies last year,” Peter explained as he draped me with one of Sirius’s silky robes.

“Praetexo!”

The fabric shifts over my body, it ripples in places and stretches in others until it hugs me lazily, lovingly. 

“This one lass wanted to crush a party.”

Peter’s wand accosted our curtain, scissoring and hemming, and seconds later, It hangs around my neck; a long-shawl scarf with rough edges. 

“I reckon she was a bit of a thief because the party was held by this hunky bloke, rich, famous and a total knob. Invited only A-list guests. Mind, he must have owned a boatload of contraband goods.”

Peter eyed the trunk, his next victim.

It is impertinent to note that that trunk has been James’s pride and joy for many moons. A gift from his father that seemed to be a source of great envy in our house.

I never got it, must be a pureblood thing.

It’s dark and it has zippers running in diagonals lines, encasing a shiny, scaly substance.

“WAIT!” James cries, ”that is authentic Norwegian Ridgeback! Are you mad?”

“We all have to make sacrifices.” Peter tusked, he did, however, lowered his wand “on second thought, best be you who does it. You’re better at transfiguration.”

When neither of us moved, he threw his hands over the trunk. “change it, mates, we got to change it.”

“what?” 

“oh, shoot I forgot. So in the story, the bird hooks up with this badass witch, begging for her help to infiltrate hunky bloke’s home. The witch then goes on a rampage, violating about a dozen muggle secrecy laws, and she charms everything in sight to create the perfect cover; a gown, a carriage, the works. She even makes the thief stilettos heels made from glass.”

Realization dawned on me as Peter’s story progressed, and Prongs must have gotten the gist of it, because he walked ahead, puffing his chest and taking deep long breaths. “Yeah, ok, come on Potter, you can do it, ‘s just a trunk. Take one for the team, eh?”

Regardless, I think I see a tear as his spell hits home. Moments later, when Sirius is stripping books from hard cases, I don’t feel so sharp myself.

***

In the end, James’s trunk made for surprisingly soft trousers. Pretty damn-near hard to breathe in, though.

They stick to my skin, parts supple leather, parts shiny and sharp, the zippers lining the borders. Upon Sirius’s insistence, my robe falls in a low cut over my bare torso. I’ve about three buttons done.

That can’t possibly meet school-robes regulations. 

The centerpiece turned out to be another robe(“for the weekends!”); flowy and gentle, with splashes of blush pink and hard metallic black lines. I was under strict orders to keep it open at all times.

The hardcovers were piled together into two stacks, morphing to create thick-soled boots. Heeled boots. 

The pumpkin was still there.

“How are they?” Sirius prompted, as I tried to stand up.

“They chafe.”

“Fashion hurts.”

“funny, so do werewolves.” I counter rapidly, taking a tentative step forward. 

I fell.

“Some werewolf.” Sirius’s large, long-fingered hand was pulling me back into my feet in a jiffy.

His nails were meticulous.

Did all the purebloods boys manicure their nails?

“Hey, Womrtail, what happened at the end of the story?” Padfoot asked suddenly, helping me take one step after the other. 

“Oh, he turned out to have a foot fetish. Found one of them glass slippers while the bird made a run for it-“

“- and gotten obsessed with finding her ever since. “I completed lightly. 

“You know it?” Sirius spluttered.

“Every half-blood and muggle-born knows it.” I huffed, leaning in slightly into the warm solid wall that was my friend. For stability. That’s all.

Sirius hummed in consideration. “The bloke sounds a lot like Prongs.” 

“HEY!”

***

“All hail queen Moony!”

I do not make a habit of coronating myself, but by the tenth round without stumbling, I felt it to be a gross misjustice.

The trick had been focusing on the pumpkin. 

While I mastered the art of high heels, my friends had rounded around the comforter. It was generously padded by white short feathers, growing brown at the tips.

Upping the ante, I summoned a thick paperback volume from my bookshelf and balanced it gingerly over my head.

“That’s the spirit, Moony!” Sirius barked, raising his wand on the count of three.

They attacked it together; joining their forces to present me with my new coat.

The book hit the ground with a feeble thud – It was a voluminous feathery piece with a deep maroon lining. The kind a 1920’s villain might wear, or, apparently, me. 

“Um,” I mumbled coherently, wincing when James pushed the coat into my hand like a proud mama hen. “what happens after I convince everyone I am gay?”

“You get into the club. Merlin, okay, let’s go one mo-“

“After that. “

“I don’t follow.”

“I got in, then what? I tell people it was all just a big scam? I am really straight and that everything was a plan orchestrated by the four of us because we simply had to get into the club? And they’d believe that?”

My roommate took his time answering, searching my face with intent. “Being a marauder, do you honestly suggest that they won’t?”

Point.

“Okay, yeah, one last question?”

“Sure mate.” He nodded, brow wrinkling in on itself.

That’s my cue. It is time for the big one. 

I turn to Wormtail.

“Why the pumpkin?”

He answered, not disrespectfully, but rather outrageously. Sort of like one might respond if I’d offered to throw a tea party with my kindergarten teddy bear and invite all the Slytherins 

“It’s a snack”

***

We lay, a mindless heap; I am pretty sure Sirius’s head is resting over my arm, and Peter’s leg is stretched over my own. I haven’t the foggiest where Prongs is.

I hope, cleaning up the mess. Someone has to, and that is not going to be me.

A loud Knock, Knock, Knock cause a deep grumble to roll and echo around the room.

“Bloody ‘eck what do you lot get up to in here?!”

I scrunch my neck as high as I can without getting up. The candles continued to float around the room, aflame, albeit, feebly. Our beddings were littered beneath the three of us (four? Where was James? ), while we rested on top of each other; a human island in a sea of cloths.

“Orgies.” I deadpanned, feeling Sirius’s lips tremble, searing over my forearm. 

It tickled.

Longbottom did not seem very amused. “Berks,” he sighed, “Just thought I should tell you, your boy James is getting his arse handed to him by Evans.”

“Does he deserve it?

“Absolutely.”

“Bugger,” I cursed, though, got - up nonetheless. Sirius and Peter hauled up in the same monotonous fashion. 

We followed Longbottom down the stairs, me at the head, Peter taking the rears. I was nearing the bottom when someone pulled me by the elbow.

“What?” I hiss, with the heels I had to look down to see Sirius swallow.

“Last chance to back down.” He shrugs, “you don’t have to go through with it if you don’t want to.” His breath danced over me, his voice a low whisper.

My gaze strayed upward until it hit Peter, who was enormously fascinated by a ball of lint.

“No – no. I am quite pregnant with it now,” I assured, “I’d like to see it through.”

***

I entered the common room with my friends at my back. Our dormmate was sprawled over the floor, cradling a red angry cheek. Evans, nowhere near the scene of the crime. 

“What did you do?” I asked, torn between exasperation and bewilderment. 

“He asked if she was bent,” Prewett chortled from his seat next to the fireplace. He wore a Gryffindor jumper with black sweatpants.

One of his socks had a hole in it.

Shifting, he gave me a considerate once over.

“What in Godric’s name are you _wearing_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really torn with this one - I had a lot of fun writing parts of it, others pained me to my very soul, so... I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> The next chapter will be up next Saturday - unless there's a demand for a sooner update *wink wink*


	5. The boundaries lacking Gryffindor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: implied state of undress(female) 
> 
> The author promotes sun safety and warns against the wayward minds of one Uncomfortable!Remus and one Carefree!Marlene. 
> 
> Check out the Mckinnon dictionary in the endnotes!

**Chapter 4 – The boundaries lacking Gryffindor**

(A sun-soaked dialogue. The figs corp. Sirius’s revelation.)

Marlene arse - kicker McKinnon.

A natural starting point for my quest, but Merlin, those washed-out locks; reaching towards the dimple in the small of her back, sheltering coveted portions of golden skin along their way… 

“Yer gettin’ skelped, lurkin’ and watchin’ like that.” 

The suddenness of the remark nearly caused me to lose the grip on my basket; a piece- offering filled with dried up fruits and cold cucumber sandwiches.

“Somthin’ mama used to tell me when I was a wee lass. Told my brothers the same thing. Every damn time we broke a vase or got too close to the oven or came back from the pitch, more mud than children. ‘yer gettin’ skelped’ she’d say. Never did do it. I had to find out what it meant when I was ten. Made a house-elf look it up. “

Somewhere between the speech and the unyielding sun, I floundered.

Her school robe was bunched leisurely around the hips, manipulated by sporadic currents of air. She peered over a bare shoulder, spreading a flush of heat through the tip of my head to the back of my neck.

Did I mention Merlin?

“Oh, I thought you were Pete. Didn’t peg _you_ for the voyeuristic type” on a sigh, her head fell back down. “No worries, if there’s food in that basin yer carrin’ I might be convinced not to hex ye.”

“ _You_ are violating school regulations.”

“And bein’ a perv doesn’t?”

“Not unless you’re perving on a goat. Dumbledore is weirdly adamant in that regard.”

“How about pissin’ off yer friends?” 

“Depends, are they sunbathing illegally _on the roof_?”

“The awesome ones do.” Marlene snorted as I hovered over the tips of the Gryffindor tower.

The girl gave me no more notice and since I was clutching my broom in all the wrong angles, I took it as an act of great kindness. In fact, if she wasn’t brazing the rules a hundred feet off the ground, I’d suggest she had been sorted into the wrong house.

“Why is it that none of my friends take my prefect pin seriously?”

“because ye let us. “ She answered easily, “and because ye wear it upside down.” 

It was the _silk_. My pin never wobbled before the silk. The boots weren’t great either. Granted, they had nothing to do with it, but they made flaying a horrid affair.

And the _leather_.

It squeaked with every shift, right or left, forward and backwards. Though, it did so constantly flying or otherwise.

“So, what’s it goin’ to be? Yer goin’ to detect house points Mr.prefect?”

“Just catch.”

The lazy sod didn’t even flinch as her bribe wobbled next to her. Nor did she scooched over when I skipped onto the blissfully solid brick tiles.

My breath came and went in rapid successions. You could see the whole of Hogwarts from up here; green heads covering acres of woods, a small hut puffing smoke signals near tiny orange patches, a crystal-like wide surface going on and on until the horizon took over.

“them snakes have their dungeons. We have our tower.” Marlene hummed contentedly; her voice carried in gushes of autumn breeze. “doesn’t make sense not to use it.”

“for a Brazilian tan?”

“Taps aff, Remus, a hen got to take advantage of all the sunlight she can get.” 

I nudged her side, making myself comfortable next to the limp sun-soaked body. It _was_ a rare day for early October. Probably one of a selective few before the rainy season hit. Fortunately, the table - cloth Sirius had stuffed me into was plenty liberal. It being mainly lace.

I was thus able to bask in the pleasantness that surrounded us without needing to match my friend’s state of undress. 

“So, what did it mean?”

“Means I want to get me some ta-“

“No, what your mom used to tell you.”

“Oh, you’re going to get slapped,” Marlene said, a little grin growing over her features. 

Somewhere overhead a Pixie fluttered its wings. 

“Marl?”

“hmm?”

“I’m glad she didn’t do it.”

The pixie found a friend. I don’t fancy the way they’re cackling together; It’s reminiscent of Prongs and Padfoot, huddled together in dark corners of the common room.

“Remus?”

“hmm?”

“yer goin’ tell me why yer blocking my sun?” 

I opted for option B; spreading out on my back, kicking off my boots. SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK. 

One of the bluish demons pointed at me.

Upclose, I could see a braid ending an inch below her ear. Its shadow played over her collar bone, elongated, its tip came to rest on – “Oh my god.” I closed my eyes.

“And here I thought yer comin’ _out_ to me.” She said, not sounding the least bit disturbed. Though, upon forcing a peek I discovered that she had donned a strategical cover-up, reclining over her arms. 

“I – “

“Sorry mate, ever since I came out all I hear are confessions. Not just from us lions, _all_ the houses. Happened back home too. It’s dead pure brilliant, people relying on me, it is, but makes it damn near impossible to –“

“lounge?”

“abso-bloody-lutely.”

“Is that what Prewett did?” I bit my tongue, waiting.

“None of yer damn business what he did.“ 

There were four of them now.

“His lose, you’re a _stellar_ conversationalist.” I accio the basket, picking out a smushed sandwich. “all joking aside, it must be nice, having someone to talk to about it with.”

“I suppose.”

“Having _someplace_ that you can unwind, wouldn’t hurt either “

The buzzing multiplied and yet Marlene was glaring _at me._ “I have the rooftop.”

Should I push it? Will Marlene kick me if I would? She seemed raring to feed me to the pixies.

“Say Marl, do you like raisins? “I asked, ruffling through our refreshments until presenting a palmful of goods. 

“Don’t ye dare.”

“How about a date?”

A wall of wings floated between us and the sky.

***

BANG.

I was on the way to the infirmary when I heard it. The permanent-hearing-disabilities-causing noise.

A purple fog crawled its way from the corner, filling my eyes with burning tears. Ringing masked the footsteps coming, running my way.

The bodies were harder to ignore.

“So long TOSSER!”

“COME ON!”

Hands, two, maybe three pulled me into action, dragging me through the mist. I was thus slammed through the nearest door, a bathroom, gasping soot.

“Blimey Moony, what the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing special.” I waved, bending over. “A swarm of pixies weaponizing figs. The usual.”

Was it normal to wheeze?

“wh- fu- who were we running from?”

“Filch” the Gryffindors echoed.

***

Peter was bracing the dingy floor peeping through the crack. “He’s pacing”

“Oooooo he’ll never check in _here_.”

“Aces! “James whispered, cracking knuckles. Meanwhile, Sirius made himself at home, plunking over a sink. Its pipes were jutting water like a sprinkle and yet it did not crumble under him.

Must be magic.

Eventually, I found myself leaning between Sirius and a relatively dust-free wall. A shuffling sound that didn’t come from my pants drew my attention. Sirius was fighting with his robes to procure a tattered piece of parchment - “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Giggles floated and mixed with the harsh splashing water. The boy spared a flashy smirk before inching into my space. As predicted, the janitor dot was marching the hallway from end to end. If we leave, he’d see us.

“Shame you wasted all those figs.” A pungent smell of black coffee filled my nostrils and I pushed my palm between us, nearly knocking the boy off.

“Shame you don’t believe in dental hygiene.”

“Tosser.”

“Buffoon.“ I moved away as he rounded back, though a certain dot caught my eye and my hand ended up on a refined sleeve. “Moony?”

The Prewett siblings were gathered around the Hufflepuff quarters … What was it that Marlene said? “I’ve made a house-elf look it up…”

Highly accommodating creatures, the house-elves. They’d even go as far as providing a picnic luncheon if you so wished it. How many times did Sirius and James return from raids with butterbeer, enough to supply the whole common room? Would it not be possible for whomever that ran the club, to address the kitchens for provisions?

“Oooooo he’s thinking. “

“He’s _always_ thinking.”

“Psst, the coast is clear.”

A quick glance assured us the Filch was indeed off to chase a third year Ravenclaw breathing too hard next to his office. We embraced our freedom with Sirius sending butterfly kisses in his wake “until we meet again, Myrtle darling.”

***

Later that night in the solitude of our headquarters (i.e. Sirius’s bed), I related my latest theory. My comrades listened with rapture. However, when I offered to investigate the matter I faced a resounding NO.

“If you’re right, and I reckon you are, we don’t want the owner catching you asking questions,” James said, licking his lips. “I’d go. “

“Maybe,” I said, hesitantly, and, in the face of full disclosure divulged into my failed attempt with Marlene. Mostly. I skipped the becoming-a-confession-box part. I would not put it past my friends to procure and slip the unsuspecting bird veritaserum (all in the name of our mission, of course).

For some reason, the idea made me flinch.

“YOU NICKED MY BROOM?”

“That’s your take from my story?” I asked, jaw wide.

Alas, there was no answer, for James deserted his seat in favour of checking the little makeshift broom-shed he hid under his bed. He had about three brooms tucked away in there and he proceeded to check each for possible dents, caressing them with extreme tenderness.

Peter shook his head,” Marl is a tough hen to crack. If she wants to keep a secret it’d take an unforgivable to get it out.”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it Moony,” Sirius nodded eagerly, “you just need to convince one guest anyway. Doesn’t matter who it is as long as they are willing to invite you along.”

One guest.

Well, Marlene was out (pun intended). Prewett wouldn’t say hello to me without tittering. That left…

Oh no.

Sirius’s fingers found my shoulder, kneading the flesh. “Listen, I’d take McKinnon. We’re on the same team, I might overhear something decent.”

“Really Padfoot? Eavesdropping?” 

“Pardon-Moi monsieur Peeping Tom? You have a better plan?”

Nope. No, Declined.

“That’s what I thought.” Sirius crowed, “Besides, I reckon she’s warming up to me. We had a heart to heart just last week.” 

I froze under my friend ministrations, a stilly grey little me shined in his orbs.

_WHAT_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mckinnon dictionary: 
> 
> Wee - little  
> Hen – girl or woman  
> Taps aff - tops off  
> Pure dead brilliant – the best, fantastic etc. 
> 
> Cheers!


	6. Top reasons Remus Lupin should crush on Sirius Black, by one Sirius Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The headline says it all darlings :)

**Chapter 5 – Top reasons Remus Lupin should crush on Sirius Black, by one Sirius Black.**

(The first sign. Cold feet. The Madam) 

As it turned out, Sirius’s clandestine conversation with Marl regarded whether or not a beater using The Bat Boggy hex should be considered a fowl (“How is it any worse than sending a mad bludger their way?).

Nearing mid-October, I became gradually skeptical of the above explanation. 

Least you will mistake my doubts for the whims of a cynical mind, I shall contrive to relate the signs, henceforth.

There were about seven or eight in total. Mind, exact numbers are a tricky business – people always forget one or else invent another along the way…

James was making faces. Not in general, just to the mirror hanging against the wall; tugging his ears and crossing his eyes as Professor McGonagall scrutinized the Ravenclaws at the far end of the room. To his credit, his hair was a glowing platinum hue. 

A row of oval mirrors twisted from one corner of the class to the next. To my right, Peter scrunched his braw; lips moving in a silent prayer until his eyebrows turned a lascivious green.

Next to him, Sirius was tilting his head, lips pursing.

Nothing changed.

“What if I get stuck?” He whispered urgently, “what if I color my nose-hair pink, and I can’t turn it back?”

It was uncanny, the scrutiny with which he massaged his cheeks, studying sharp and soft lines alike. He had taken a step back, trying for a different angle. It was the same ritual he did every morning, so I half expected him to come to the same conclusion ("I am fine, let’s go eat").

“You should probably ask me out.”

“What?” I snapped.

It must have been an error, a side effect of my inability to perform silent transfiguration. Sirius had _actually_ said, you should probably ask _for help._

My friend began his ritual all over again. “You should probably ask me out.”

That was the first sign.

***

“It makes sense,” Sirius claimed, for the umpteenth time. He was indulging on a shepherd pie that was all too inviting for me _not_ to sneak a fork in.

“If you _were_ gay, you’d be into me.” wrinkling his nose, he forgoes the dish, pushing it into my loving clutches. Smart move.

“Because you’re oh so irresistible?” I snorted on a munch.

“And because we spend all of our time together. Yes.” He murmured through a lazy grin, pulling only one corner of his mouth.

“I spend all of my time with Prongs and Wormtail,” I countered, waving over the boys in question. “should I ask _them_ out?”

To my utter horror, neither boy protested.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Peter shrugged over his pumpkin juice, “a bloke can do a lot worse.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Language Moony.” James tusked gleefully, filling his plate with mashed potatoes. “you can’t ask me out, though.” He added,” I am spoken for.” 

I couldn’t quite blame Evans - James’s wink was as leering as they come. The pumpkin juice went for a good cause.

Albeit, she did not have to use _Peter’s_.

***

We shared a sofa, Sirius and me. We had free period, and James decided it was the perfect time to interrogate the house-elves.

I haven’t the foggiest where Peter is. Sirius, on the other hand, is right _there_.

Spreadeagle, his parchment rolled and mixed with mine. It wasn’t long before we each attained the other’s homework, extracting details we might have otherwise missed.

“Is the dragon blood pertinent?” I mused, to which he replied,

“There is a Hogsmeade trip next week.”

Lowering my (and his) assignment I found that he was still occupied with both. He hunched closer over my writing, the tip of his nose poking the parchment. 

“Are you going to ask me out? “

***

“A request came in for next Thursday.“ Prongs was leaning over his broom; a diagonal line floating over the stands. Me and Peter huddled together next to the blue flames, passing a large triangle of exploding treacle - toffee between us.

“Who is it?” I prompted, taking a tooth breaking bite out of the candy bar.

“Er, they wouldn’t say. Something about a confidentiality breach –“

“Potter. “

“But I have a plan,” he added hastily, swirling his broom for emphasis.

“Potter!”

“I’ll camp out next to the kitchens, with my cloak. If the request was made by the owner, they’d want to come by. Make sure everything is up to snuff.”

“POTTER!”

Prongs took a sharp turn just as Fabian jumped off his own broom, feet meeting the ground in a loud crash. If Sirius ever stopped jinxing innocent bystanders, he might have noticed that his bat was missing.

“Wow, careful with that, eh?“ 

Fabian all but snarled before regaining himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you _doing?”_

“Why, chatting with Moon-“

“We are in the middle of practice, _captain._ ” he shouted, waving his hands in the air “and can you please reign in your boyfriend?”

Prongs shadowed his face with his palm, snapping his neck to the zig-zagging black dot. “Nah, those are Ravenclaws, he’s hindering spies.”

“THEY ARE FIRST YEARS.”

“So?” despite his shrug, Prongs levitated upward, “come on Prewett, there’s a practice goin’ on you know.”

For a moment, I saw fumes coming off the ginger’s head. Then his gaze landed on my blouse. His mouth, once slightly open, became a large void; a factory for undying guffaws.

***

There was no light in the sixth-year bathroom. We had an oil lamp once, but Peter transformed it into a belt. My wand dangled over the towel cabinet; the beaks of light coming from it faded into the steams that clouded the stall’s glass.

Blindly, I heaved my way back to the room, wrapped in flannels. It was 2 am, and Sirius _still_ stared himself stupid in that wretched mirror.

Well, technically, he was staring at Prongs.

“Anything?” I muttered, dragging my feet. My knees wobbled against timber and I collapsed face-first into my bed.

I’ve found bliss.

“Yeah, I reckon Prongs’ right nostril is bigger than his left.”

“Cheers.” I deadpanned, “where’s Wormtail?”

“Keeping Prongs company,” Sirius answered, flinging his hair over his shoulder to better inspect his reflection. 

“Oy, pretty boy, shut it or they’ll hear us.” The mirror hissed.

Sirius did a silent salute before sticking the triangular device under his pillow. Judging by the opaque mutterings, that was not Prongs’ intention. 

I was ready to call it a night when my mattress dipped.

“the Hogsmede trip is tomorrow, “Sirius said, filling the dimple he had created in my bed. “are you going to ask me out?”

“Sure,” I inched closer despite my twinging body. My very bare foot contacted my friend’s very bare stomach and sent him hurtling to the floor. I smiled beatifically over the edges of my four-poster, flattering my eyelashes. “Care to get the fuck out?” 

Splutters of indignation and hummed out laughter guided me to sleep that night.

The moon was a thin crescent scar edged into dark skies…

***

I wore the centerpiece on Saturday. It was very hard to concentrate while wearing a centerpiece; they were unexpectedly mellow. I ended up playing with the sleeve for most of James’s morning sermon.

The boy wore a melancholy expression as he played with his spoon, nudging the milk - sodden cereals. “…‘nt do nothing ‘bout it.”

I risked a glance at Evans direction. She buttered her toast, as cheerily as one can get while buttering toasts. Not her fault then.

Probably.

“Cheer up Prongsy, you’ll catch ‘em eventually.” Peter cooed. I should have guessed it was about The Plan.

Nowadays most of everything was.

Not to mention, last night was the third night in a raw James came back empty-handed. His surveillance became so futile, Peter stopped tugging along.

“Wormtail’s right,” Sirius said jolly, patting Prongs. “No one lurks like you, you’re a top lurker mate. Way better than Moony over here.” It was hard to protest what with James looking up to us with a solemn expression.

“you think so?” 

“A corking good lurker!“ Sirius nodded, grinning empathically, “the best in the business. “

By the time we left the great hall, our comrade was smiling from ear to ear…

I went over the list James presented us when we left for Hogsmeade. His re-established faith in our cause gave him the incentive to skip off to the kitchens (“Just to check!”).

“Guess we _were_ running short on the tarantula venom, “I mused, going over the well-crafted _alphabetized_ list. “the bicorn horn might be a tad much.”

“Yeah, and doxies eggs aren’t exactly on Zonko’s best sellers either.” Sirius scoffed.

“Give it here.” Peter sighed, reading over my shoulder as we made our way past the three broomsticks. “I’ll go to Zonko’s, you two can hit the Madam for the rest. Work some of the ol’ charm.” He winked, ”we can meet back here after we’re done.”

Sirius and I exchange a wicked expression. Visiting the Madam was promised to be a splendid time.

Indeed, when we marched into the round pink shop not long after, a strong smell of lotus blossom attacked us at the entrance.

The doorbells jingled merrily as we closed the door, bracketing the wind. 

On our way to the till, Sirius’s arm ended up over the back of my neck, “If you were going to escort me to Puddifoot’s, you might as well have asked me out.”

I awarded my friend with a prize-winning eye roll, and decidedly ignored the couples sending curious glances our path; I was not quite ready to live in a world where Sirius Black was in the right.

We waited patiently by the large oak counter; myriads of teabags were presented for the onlookers, standing innocently next to glass stands filled with pumpkin cakes, decorated with rose petals. Patrons such as myself, however, would bargain that the _real_ treats were in the unmarked jars of dried out leaves. For if some negligent worker ever _did_ attempt to identify them, the labels would range from Lady Sensuous to Peals of Lemon Laughter.

Admittedly, the mysterious leaves were even outside of _our_ comfort zone; the sugary sweet smells of the shop preventing the detection of some of the more…exotic substances.

I punched in the metallic bell, indicating paying customers were afoot. “Must be in the back.” Sirius hummed, already in possession of a large triangular jar over-brimming with pink-blue leaves. Opening the lid and taking a lung full sniff before putting it back, wincing. 

A deserted menu rested by the till and I perused it with little interest.

_Champagne Summer Plumes_

_Tea service and butter scones. Fresh and aromatic, perfect for hot summer dates. Your cups will be filled with sunshine, romance and Jasmine petals._

“Puddifoot sure likes a show,” I remarked, lips twisting.

“Speaking of shows…how come you won’t fake mooning over me?” Sirius asked, trying another jar. “I’m brilliant, _and_ you’ve seen me naked ‘bout a dozen times by now- ”

“I am going to stop you before you start waxing poetically about your abs.” I huffed, inspecting a tin pot with golden-orange leaves. It had a tarnished silver ladle. 

The glee I shared with my friend was all too avid. We had to suppress our giggles when I tinkled with the instrument.

“ _Misss-ter_ Black!” The Madam, a podgy witch wrapped in flowery Japanese cut robes, gurgled, causing us to flinch. “And young _Looopin._ What a pleas- oh _no, no, nooo dar-ling_ , don’t play with that.”

I dropped the pot guiltily, cursing my friend for chuckling on my behalf. “Sorry, Madam.”

“Nooonsense dar-ling, “ her voice sloshed liked a 40 years old firewhiskey in a glass, “What can I _do_ you for, _hmmm_?” 

“Just wondering if you have any of those _ingredients,”_ Sirius said chipperly, sliding the list over the counter.

“And a batch of those butter scones.” I chipped in, shrugging upon meeting my friend’s raised braw. 

"They sound delicious.”

“ _Yessss_ , I have some in the back,” The Madam said curtly, a pointy nail trailing James’s inventory, before disappearing behind a thick pink curtain.

“Tell you what, If I ever take you out, it’d be behind _that curtain,_ ” I promised, resuming my previous inspection. There was a small compartment on the other side of the desk that housed a few dozen Potpourri bags.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sirius said, reclining over the dark wood. “We won’t _actually_ go out. You’d simply _want_ us to.”

“Obviously,” I muttered, picking up one of the bags. Now, Sirius’s pride and the outrageousness it had inspired within him was as old as the giant squid. The Madam prescribing instructions on her merchandise, on the other hand, was brand new.

_Infuse 45 ounces with 25.6 ounces of melted rum. No stirring._

“Ahhh, black blueberry fog, a _nectar_ for the third eye.” The madam swooshed over with two wrapped up, brown bags. “3 gallons for a well-dressed _dar-ling.”_

“M-maybe another time.”

If my cheeks were warm while my friend coughed up the tally, it was because the tearoom was stuffy as hell.

Sirius was shaking silently all the way to the three broomsticks.

***

James found us before Peter did. Sirius was going over the items in his bag while _I_ was happily nibbling on mine. _Scrumptious_. 

“Evelyne Vane.” He declared, his face shining bombastically.

“Prongs,” Sirius barked “Vane is the second year who used to send me heart-shaped paper planes.”

“Not exactly the secret club owner type,” I stressed; you can’t be too sure when it comes to James.

“RUN!”

The shout resonated as Wormtail sprinted by us, hugging a Zonko’s bag and what appeared to be a wildly kept flowerpot.

***

“Hullo, love, Moony,” James greeted, swaggering out of the common room without a backward glance. His school bag dangled over his shoulder, housing his infamous inheritance.

It was Thursday.

“Er, shouldn’t we, like, stop him?” Sam, a fifth-year prefect asked, his face turning a funny shade of green. The marauders had that effect on the younger prefects.

“Why? he hadn’t broken any rules.”

“Yet.” Evans pointed shrewdly, skidding over the Entrance Watch to begin our patrol. Five empty classrooms, two encounters with Peeves and three out of bounds Slytherins later, we climbed back through the portrait hole, meeting a brooding shadow in the otherwise empty room. Fickle flames died slowly in the fireplace while the shadow sat in an overstuffed armchair, contemplating the meaning of life, grasping something large and…grey?

The Entrance Watch was nowhere to be seen and even Evans wasn’t keen on going near it.

Cowards.

“James?” I went one cautious step at a time. Could it be that James had actually done it? Finding the club? Did he crossed the bodyguards? His large doe eyes and parted chapped lips being the result of a well placed Confundus?

“I don’t get it.“ He mumbled, extending what appeared to be an oversized tee shirt for my investigation. It had an enchanted heart drown over the front, and it continuously shifted from a black circle and back. The inside of the heart read, “The Sirius Black Love Circle”.

I was pretty certain, egging my friend to climb back to bed, that my life had reached peak levels of ludicrousness. 

Then the knock came.

The second time around, I drew my wand. Someone was behind the portrait hole.

“’s not polite not to answer it,” James informed me and Evans, yawning and flickering his wand as he retreated up the stairs.

“WAIT!” It was too late, though. The portrait had sprung open letting in a ginger mass, rolling headfirst like a rubber ball. I blinked. Fabian Prewett was either asleep or dead over the common room rug.

Bugger.

We crouched over the great booze-reeking lump. His cheek was smeared with baby blue sparkles, and I found myself giving it an experimental poke with my wand.

He giggled.

“Okay, up we go.” I sighed, lifting him off the ground and nudging him awake. ”I got him.” I assured Evans, slinging one of his arms over my upper back for support. It had a visible stamp on it that I benevolently pretended not to notice. “yu an alrigh’ chum Lupin.” He slurred with an eye-watering breath. “I don’ tell yu that enuff’.

He hiccups, dragging a cold nose over my pulse point, his fingers ghosting over my silky sleeve in drunken curiosity.

He wasn’t laughing anymore.

Fabian Prewett went to sleep that night tucked in and cuddling a shining new bucket. Meanwhile, the marauders were camped in Sirius’s bed, waiting for my return.

Prongs was modeling his new shirt.

It was late, we were all meant to be up in four hours or so, but I took my time; disrobing button after button, climbing over my rustling sheets. I wasn’t ready to reveal my nightly report till my toes were tasked with the heft of my comforter.

“I am attracted to Sirius Black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED ENDNOTES:  
> Hey yo! if you came this far you'd probably be happy to hear that I posted an EXTRA mini-chapter following this one!  
> It's a fluffier view of what leads to our fave prefect "epiphany", though, you 100% do not have to read it to understand the plot of this chapter or the upcoming chapters. 
> 
> Ta!


	7. Pining Miss Bingley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INNUENDOES START HERE :) 
> 
> Also, if you haven't checked out the bonus mini-chapter for this fic yet, you can catch it on my profile. It's a fluffier take on the LAST chapter and the reasoning leading up to Remus "epiphany". HOWEVER, you do not have to read it to understand the plot of this fic (I was just getting a bit fluff starved).

**Chapter 6 – Pining miss Bingley**

(A Marauder’s moral code, fiction flirting, cuddling).

Fabian Prewett’ eyes didn’t bore into my very soul. His lips did not ghost over my own, they weren’t even that close. More importantly, my heart did not skip a beat (if anything, the boozy stench lowered it to a dangerously low rate).

By all accounts, and by that I mean according to every romance book I had ~~pretended I~~ never read, the other boy was _not_ interested in me. He did not check me out with charged sexual tension. Snogging was certainly not on the table.

But it was.

I am not even talking “the drunken sneak attack douchebag kiss”. I am talking about a mutual participation snog.

And, if those books had any credibility _at all_ , it would have been head-spinning material. Because I would have gotten along with it. Heck, I would have _initiated_ it.

For the sake of The Plan, that is.

Oh, it was so perfectly orchestrated – one little, quick peck. Lips bumping, followed by awkward apologies the next day and the mission was as good as done. A report would have been built between me, and one of the club’s guests. Either Prewett or possibly Marlene, if he had the mind to “confess” about our drunken escapade. Or I could have done the confessing, and he would have served as collaboration.

That was the craw, though, wasn’t it?

People were not meant to become my unwitting collaborators. In all my years as a co- prankster, I never so much as _flirted_ for decoy purposes alone. 

Unless you counted the marauders.

And we usually didn’t. 

Consequently, I blamed the following decision on years of vague boundaries, a month and a half of nonstop conspiring, and severe lack of sleep.

“I am attracted to Sirius Black.”

***

Startingly, my so-called epiphany wasn’t the first thing on the marauder’s agenda that night. Not exactly.

We conversed in hushed, dreamlike murmurs about my encounter with Fabian. I dived in, telling my friends about the O.G.P.T.S.P stamp that was so clear against the back of his hand, the baby blue sparkles smeared over his face, and his, er, general state of inebriation.

I might have skipped a minor detail or two, for brevity sake.

“I can’t believe it!” James moaned, “I had the map, I could have _followed_ him!”

“Now, now Prongs, you had a fan club meeting to attend to.” Sirius soothed; his face kept riveting back to the same lolled up smile ever since I came in (AKA the second sign Sirius wasn’t being completely honest about his conversation with Marlene). 

“Speaking of The Sirius Black Love Circle,” Peter said, eyes glazing over James’s shirt, “you mentioned something ‘bout, shall we say, considering a membership?”

Sirius's chest was so puffed up with air, it looked like a helium balloon ready to soar. “It was unavoidable, mate.”

“So true,” I said dryly “you were always meant to become my secret-gay-club-beard. It’s practically written in our stars.”

The great insufferable prick.

“Let me get this straight,” James pitched in (“Stop laughing Padfoot!”), his eyes jumping to the sheet-plan looming over his bed. “Are you suggesting a pretend dating scheme?” 

Merlin’s beard, please do not let there be _another_ ink explosion.

“I have zero interest in suffering more than I have to-“

“Now wait here that’s – “

“I am simply suggesting that, under the circumstances, it might be beneficial to fake a _crush_ on Padfoot.“

“I can see that, Padfoot _is_ the unrequited love type isn’t he?” Peter complied.

“Why¸ thank you Wor-“

“Sort of like the sun - better admired from afar. “

“Not where I thought you were going with thi-“

“Yeah, way to take one for the team, mate.” James whistled.

“OKAY, everyone, stop attacking me and get out of my bed,” Sirius demanded, kicking, and elbowing our roommates to the floor. “We can reconvene _after_ you lot had a few hours of sleep to ponder your abominable manners. “

Pointedly, he fluffed a few cushions and stomped his head on them, facing me. “ _We_ can plan your seduction attempts in the morning.” He sniffed.

“Whatever do you mean?” I purred, “There’s no _we_ in unrequited love, _sweetheart._ Don’t fret your pretty little head over it, I’ll take care of _everything._ ”

There is nothing quite like the sense of accomplishment one gets from stomping a marauder.

I plan on feeling like that a lot for the foreseeable future.

***

If asked at random who among our numbers was most likely to be flirted with, at any given moment, Sirius Black would come dead last.

Over the years we accumulated many theories about the matter; Sirius was distant, the girls were shy and so forth and so forth. Yet, he _was_ popular, likable, and ~~rather~~ some would argue fetching. As a result, he tended to get caught in numerous side glances and double overs. In lamest terms, it was highly feasible that any display of affection towards the boy would be a source of great interest among our peers.

None of it explained why my friends were relentlessly staring at me. _Again._

James’s nose nearly touched my cheek, Peter’s face was blue from oxygen deficiency and I can’t recall the last time Sirius blinked.

Evidently, they were all under the impression that I was about to break into an elaborate love confession any moment now, declaring my undying devotion to Mister Black.

We were in the middle of defense against the dark art class.

***

Fortunately, I had enough self - control to wait for the end of our class before jumping my friend’s bones.

Sort of.

We were packing our bags when my hand slid over his elbow, squeezing ever so gently. I leaned in over my frozen friend, suspecting that a seductive whisper would hit the spot. However, since no one aside from Sirius would actually _hear it…_

I let my voice drop, dipping and tilting my head until my nose created an elongated shadow over his skin, _“I know it was you Fredo. You broke my heart. “_

Sirius squinted, “Who the bloody fuck is Fredo?” 

***

Lunchtime provided a lucky break – Sirius was dutifully working on his charm homework (our next lesson) and so I could marvel at the evenness of his lines to my heart content.

Nothing said pining quite like a good unhealthy obsession over the particulars of one’s handwriting. Hence, Sirius’s hands worked under my keen observation, while our friends were forced to act as if such were the everyday lives of the marauders.

“Halloween is coming up.” Peter pointed out, decidedly avoiding getting mixed up in Sirius’ and mine unfolding interaction.

“I am sure Flitwick would be very pleased with your homework, Padfoot.”

“ ‘s been a while since our last prank.”

“You write uncommonly fast, don’t you Padfoot?”

“Only _you_ would think that’s a compliment,“ Sirius countered bemusedly, diligently dotting an I.

“Maybe we can do with an after-party instead?”

“Brilliant, the Halloween feast is always such a _bore._ ” James drawled, fighting off his shit-eating grin as I scooched closer on the bench. “Shall I mend your quill?” I chippered, “I am marvelous atmending wizards’ quills _._ ”

Three seats away somebody chocked on a glass of water.

My friend, on the other hand, moved slowly and deliberately, “Why, thank you Moony. A wizard does get tired mending his own _quill_.”

Nothing quite prepared me for the sight of Sirius’s leer.

***

Okay, so Sirius gave as good as he got. No matter, as James reasoned, it gave my so-called crush more of a kick.

Then again, he also suggested that I should scribble “Messer Moony Black” on all of my notes.

I reserved it as plan b.

In the meantime, and despite my earlier disappointment, I decided to draw inspiration from some of the great literary minds.

I was thus strolling the library, checking random books for passages describing flirtatious interactions among friends. Most scriptures seemed to agree that any one-sided romance (whether on a friend or an unrelated party) included confiding in The Best Friend, oftentimes to be unashamedly pimped out.

That sounded like Prongs’ department...

***

“Wotcher Moony!” James beamed.

The girl he was chatting up? Not so pleased. Regardless, he made room for me on the sofa - “you don’t mind, do you, hun?”

Translation: James couldn’t be arsed to remember the bird's name, which made a mediocre amount of sense, as she was not a redhead, did not cursed him on a daily basis, and did not condemn everything he stood for.

In Potter-land, that was awfully dull. 

The girl’s hair hit James’s face as she marched to her mutually shocked girlfriends. James, though, didn’t flinch so much as spread back on the plush paddings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need your advice on a sensitive issue.” I may, or may not, neglected to lower my voice and as a result Sirius himself spared us a raised eyebrow, taking a break from kicking Peter’s arse in gobstones. 

Which was odd, because Peter hadn’t lost a round of gobstones since second year…

“It’s a- a date type issue.” I made a show of tucking my hair and checking for eavesdroppers. Suddenly, our housemates were rather engrossed by the gobstones action. Frank Longbottom went as far as perching on top of Marl’s armchair, claiming the best viewpoint to the game. 

Naturally, it meant we had quite the audience.

“Moony you _beast_.” James was positively glowing, “that’s _brilliant._ I never even thought about, er, I mean do go on.” 

I am pretty certain this is the part where the forlorn heroine accidentally catches a glimpse of her would-be-lover, preferably across a crowded room. She then turns scarlet, thus allowing The Best Friend to unravel the mystery of her heart.

However, because I am a man and cannot blush on cue, I settle on a well-placed smile in Sirius’s direction. Who is not so much across the room, as conveniently laying on his tummy a few feet away.

I cleared my throat, ready to shrug emphatically - what the hell, right? I might as well go all out. 

“Prongs there’s this _person_ and I can’t stop thinking about hi- THEM.”

That was consistent with my research so far; pining for your friend appeared to involve a lot of devotion to the cause. They hunted your everyday lives with very little consideration for trivialities such as eating, sleeping, or writing your transfiguration essays.

Not very friendly of them, was it? It sounded to me more like a midnight encounter with Peeves and a bucket full of chuck.

“Oh, It’s a wretched business! I want to tell themhow I feel but… it’s too big a risk, you know? I – I reckon you realized by now who I am talking about?”

James nodded, alternating between biting his cheek and lip, trying to force a solemn expression. I was sort of building on the premise that the pimping would begin by now… I didn’t plan this far ahead. 

Well, if I _were_ in love with Sirius, what would bother me? What would stop me from confessing?

Admittedly, not much.

Better not dwell on it, then. “Any advice?” I asked, the words coming out as unintended croak.

My friend took a series of deep coaxing breaths,”Urmgh, I, HA Godric, no – no, I’m good. Are you sure you aren’t just confused?”

A distinct snort, followed by an exasperated muttered “typical,” had risen from the spectators, but it got drowned in Peter’s exaggerated moaning.

Begrudgingly, he passed some sickles to Sirius, who made a show of yawning, stretching so profoundly it was a miracle his back did not break.

“I am not confused, Prongs, I’m in love.” I tried to make it as heartfelt as I could, but I was caught in Sirius’s wink and ended up with a stupid pumpkin size grin.

It must have worked out, though, because James nodded again.

“I can see that.”

The conversation pretty much died there, Sirius yawned again and dragged his lethargic arse upstairs, while Peter complained loudly that he deserved a chance to win his money back, and would anyone like to have a go?

A valiant second year stepped up, sponsored by his friends, and later that night Wormtail and Padfoot shared the spoils.

***

In the split second between awareness and slumber my brain shifts into overdrive, as some brains are wont to do.

_“I can see that.”_

Means nothing. That was James, going along with _my_ idea.

_What if he was being sincere?_

James does not believe I have the hots for Sirius.

_He could. You are convincing, isn’t that why they picked you as “infiltrator”?_

Yes, exactly, _they_ picked me, they bloody well know I am playing a role.

_You weren’t playing when he said it, though._

…

_You were smiling._

…

_Because of Sirius._

Sirius is a funny bloke! And such an awful actor, merlin, those second years were so naive getting hassled like that.

_You are smiling again._

He is one of my best friends. That’s natural.

“ _I can see that.”_

MEANS NOTHING.

That was James having nothing worthwhile to say. I mean, he didn’t even pimp me out!

_Did you want him to?_

…

“Goblins in heaven!” I grunted, stomping my way over to James’s bed.

The stupid boy was asleep and snoring lightly as if he did not wreak havoc on my psychic. I should wake him up, see how _he_ likes it.

I entertained myself with the possibility before diving headfirst into the dirty pile of laundry on the floor. There was an unassuming note at the top:

D _ear house-elf,_

_Please clean everything BUT my cloak. You know the one._

_P.S. if you find anything in the pockets, don’t throw it away._

_P.S.S they are not explosive snaps, they are rare candies design to look like that to alarm thieves. However, knowing the hard work you put in, I give you my permission to try one._

_Forever yours,_

_A friendly Gryffindor._

Merlin, Prongs was predictable. I rescued the invisibility cloak and wrapped it around my shoulders experimentally.

It smelled.

However, If I was doomed to stay awake, I bloody better have a hot drink to keep me company.

On my way to the kitchens, I threw out the note.

***

I ended up carrying a steamy mug of hot cocoa, heating charms included.

I am not especially fond of chocolate, but I suppose it does have its remedial benefits. And after I’d sneaked the Irish cream in, it was rather inviting. Well - worth having to dodge Slughorn, who managed to sniff out alcohol all the way from the dungeons.

I was sufficiently smug up till I reached The Fat Lady.

The painting was snoring, much like James, in small nasal hiccups.

I pulled my wand; I wouldn’t be able to alohomora the portrait, but I do reckon soft taps of wood would be a kinder way to wake her up than loud knocking on her surface.

The cringing of the metallic axis rendered my decision mute. The portrait was opened from the inside.

I waited for someone to get out, but was met with relative darkness.

There were no prefects by the entrance. Did someone know I was there? Would casting a spell compromise my position?

Hesitantly, I climbed through, wand at the ready.

The portrait instantly shut behind me.

The common room was empty, and yet something stirred in it.

Something black.

“You don’t scare easily do you?” 

***

Sirius was hidden in a nook of his own making underneath the spiral stairway, his hideout given away by the Lumos emitted from his wand.

“You’re not very scary,” I commented, taking a mouthful of bitter chocolate and melted butter that instantly spread warmth all over my chest.

Must be the liquor. 

I sat crossed-legged in front of my friend, unwrapping my cloak. Our map was stranded next to his foot as he flipped through a book with an air of very little consideration.

In our first year, I was sure he was taking us on, only pretending to be reading while in actuality speeding through blurry lines that made very little sense.

He didn’t.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked, sipping my own insomniac coca with perfect contentment.

“No, not so much.” He admitted sheepishly.

“Yeah, me neither.”

He didn’t prey and in return I didn’t either. We sat there, me finishing my drink and him his book.

Occasionally, I cooed over the quickness of his reading and he thanked me by punching my shoulder or kicking me in the shins. Mainly, we just laughed.

Somewhere along the way, our ankles got tangled up. I reached the murky lumps at the bottom of my mug and Sirius book was shoved under his head. He had his school robe on, but profusely refused to share it, so I used James’s cloak as a blanket.

I suggested going to bed, but it was delivered with so little interest on my part that it merely solidified our unwillingness to move.

We laid side by side, slowly drowsing off.

The next morning, I was engulfed in a tight grip between Sirius’ arms, my nose was caught on the cleavage of his robes and _something_ was incessantly poking me from behind. 

To my great horror, it turned out to be Lily Evans’ wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I REALLY wanted to give Remus his own set of rules /moral code, him being both a marauder and a prefect. Hence, his contradictory logic throughout the fic so far (and this chapter particularly!)
> 
> 2\. I actually love romance books and pinning. Lots and lots of pining! Did you catch how Remus couldn’t sleep? Serves him right making all those jokes. HA!
> 
> 3\. Remus is bluntly referencing the godfather (I know it was you Fredo) and Pride and Prejudice (admiring Sirius’s handwriting).
> 
> Next chapter, next week. 
> 
> Ta!


	8. The Pied Piper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout out to my new(and not so new) subscribers!  
> I apologize for the long wait but I am hereby thrilled to present the little tidbits from the life and woes of Remus Lupin, following The Night.

Chapter 7 – The Pied Piper

(Mission Chandelier, A wizarding gazette, October the 31st )

It had been brought to my attention that I am not the most optimistic of people.

I resent that analysis.

To be either extremely pessimistic, or optimistic one cannot be a very rational person.

I am a very rational person.

For example, after Lily Evans threw her hands up in the air, declaring there were some things even she did not need to know, I had every reason to assume that my life as I knew them was not over.

When I got up to breakfast the same day, I realized that it was.

***

“Whatch’ doin’?” 

Marlene and Peter shared twin grins while James prostrated at my feet. 

“The fuck is wrong with ‘im?” Sirius grunted, sparing his best friend a disdainful glance. Evidently, being awakened by my mortified scream did not sit too well with the boy.

“Forget _him,_ Let’s talk ‘bout _you_ , eh?” Peter urged, “I heard you had quite the night, you dirty ol’ dog!”

Sirius blinked. And me? Well, between Peter's glowing mirth, James’ unrelenting bowing, and the many, many eyes that were ostensibly exploring bowls of flabby cereals, I decided that it was high time to work on my eulogy.

I got pretty far ahead and was finalizing subsection 14 (1) (b), dictating that any and all leather trousers found in my possession should henceforth be given to James. F. Potter (under the strict condition of his wearing them every other Sunday), when the boy in question had discovered the unimaginable truth.

“What do you mean it WASN’T PLANNED _?”_

***

It should hereby be noted that the seventh floor was not a particularly exciting place to be.

Sure, its walls had various paintings on them, but none had ticklish fruits. Moreover, it was not hunted, and no secret passageways were leading into Honeydukes.

In short, it did me no good whatsoever.

The seventh floor was basically one long, empty hall designed to form a purgatory between the sixth and eighth floors (which were marginally more interesting, by association).

And it had a chandelier.

The chandelier was important. 

***

“I say you go with it.” Peter was dangling his feet in a jovial rhythm. He held his wand at the fizzy drops hanging from the ceiling, his back planted firmly against the windowpane. “let the gossip mill work its charm. “

“Yeah Mate! The rumors about you two are practically medieval. “James agreed from his spot across the hall.

His wand was likewise pointed upward.

“It’s fantastic. “

“How lovely,” I muttered, waiting for my friends severing charm to take hold so I could swish and flick the sparkly décor.

My inherent snarkiness aside, I had to admit that waking up next to Sirius had its benefits, plan-wise. For the last couple of days, I had become the Pied Piper of Hogwarts; drawing out an infestation of whispers wherever I went.

Predictably, however, none of us had taken to the recent developments as well as Sirius, who, after drinking his morning coffee, viewed the whole ordeal as a grand joke.

Indeed, he acquired an unfortunate habit of cackling uncontrollably in quiet, uninterrupted moments. Whether in the middle of class, pouring his pumpkin juice, or resting after his Quidditch practices. It hit him like a wave that had no immediate offset, other than the accumulated interruptions to the tectonic plates moving miles and miles beneath its surface. 

He was our watchman.

“It’s hilarious,” he snorted, blissfully unaware of the happenings on his end of the hall, “we weren’t even naked! Trust randy fifth-year students to take a perfectly innocent moment and write it off as a pornographic _page-turner_.”

“Padfoot, that cuddle was adults-only material if I ever saw one” James countered. 

“What do you mean _saw_ one?“ I interjected, lowering our target to the floor.

Mission: accomplished.

“We had an early Quidditch practice…I couldn’t find this lazy sod, so I went and had a look around.”

“And waking us up never crossed your mind?!”

James frowned, twisting his face - “why would I go and do _that_ for?”

***

“I heard he slipped Black Amortentia.”

“On no, it was the other way around.”

“You’re both wrong, they were going at it for _weeks_ -”

“Months-“

“YEARS!”

“Can you lot keep it down?” I hissed, rounding on the three boys whispering at my footsteps. “and weren’t we going to let the rumors play _themselves_ out?” I demanded, scanning the overpacked unkempt shelves for a familiar title.

The restricted section must have been under a dust-gathering jinx or else a cleaning spell that was way past its expiration date, because the books always had a murky grey layer sprinkled over them. 

I sneezed.

“Bless thy skeptic heart,” James beamed, “we were merely repeating what was already said. Nothing too imaginative if you ask me.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I like the one with Moony slipping me the Amortentia.” Sirius drawled, making no effort pretending he has any intention getting near the dirt. “It's very risqué.” 

“Duly noted.” I snorted, pulling a random book. “Is this it?” I asked Peter, who was lying flat on the floor, searching the bottom shelf.

“Does it have a picture of a vampire, a witch, and a bumblebee on the cover?”

It had a blank, black cover, titled “Ways to make him scream: the voluptuous dark arts.”

Better check, just to be extra thorough…

***

“There!” Peter exclaimed, thrusting a thick volume under my nose. We were located in such a manner that even Madam Pinch was not able to hear my friend’s joyous cry.

If the restricted section had an underbelly, Peter’s book was in the bladder.

Its name was “The wizarding gazette for muggles’ crime culture: 1920 – 1968.” It had a cutout picture from a 1961 issue of The Times.

A young vampire, a younger witch, and a tiny little bumblebee were all enjoying a Bounty.

To Peter, that was reason enough to bounce his weight from foot to foot, “says ‘ere… says that muggles felons play tricks on Halloween, Moony, is that true?”

He was already passing the testimonial between our friends.

“Says they raid old muggles’ homes for sweets while wearing elaborative covers, representing beloved childhood figures,” James read out loud, leafing through the pages. “Why would they need to play dress-up to commit a crime?”

“So they won’t be recognized, obviously.” Sirius answered with great exasperation, “you can’t report a crime, not knowing what the buggers look like, can you?”

“Aye, imagine alerting them Aurors because a fella in a Grindylow mask raided your home!”

“Blimey, mate, that’s brilliant,” James whooped. “Those muggles sure have the right idea of things. But is it really so Moony?”

“I reckon _we_ can do with some costumes, eh Moony?”

“We’ll make great muggles criminals, won’t we Moony?”

“…”

Perhaps a heart to heart with Peter’s Muggle Studies professor, regarding her course curriculum, was in order.

***

On the next day, a sign appeared on the Gryffindor common room’s bulletin board.

It was not so much hanged by a pin as it was magically stuck, eclipsing the less important notifications.

_Happy Halloween (after) party!_

_Charm your own costume for our inner-house Trick or Treat,_

_The spookiest muggle tradition!_

The sign was adorned by smiling pumpkins and was made from something distinctively sheet-like.

***

On the night of October, the 31st the Gryffindor common room had an added decorum.

Two of its loveseats were circulated by metallic bars, levitating a few inches off the ground, in a rough sporadic manner. One of the boys in the makeshift cage was throwing his head back and knocking drinks with his counterpart. 

Both were dressed in Gryffindor’s red, loosely cut robes, that made a sad attempt at hiding their torsos.

Their laughter died as I approached.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Sirius pouted; one leg thrown over the arm of his chair. It left very little for the imagination and was probably the reason a lion, a mermaid, and three Slytherins were camping nearby.

“I am dressed.” I pointed out, perching myself next to the above mention leg. He did not bother to lower it.

“No, no you’re not!” He cried, waving his butterbeer around the room in a demonstration. “Everyone went along with the costume theme, where is _your_ costume Moony?”

I looked down at my black boots, traveling up to my black leather trousers, covered by my silky black robe. 

“I am a dementor.” I quipped, licking my lips - “want a kiss?”

It wasn’t whispered, and so the rushing sounds of intaking air were an expected (and a highly desirable) outcome.

It was Sirius’s puckering lips that gave me pause. It did not leave me much choice – I leaned in.

And stole his drink.

“All bark and no bite,” Sirius teased, with crinkles around his eyes. He wriggled his leg, imprinting his body’s temperature in the spot his skin met my side.

“Yeah, yeah, what are you supposed to be then?” I asked, dragging the glassy orifice against my lower lip.

My friends shared a blithesome expression. James who, until now, was torn between making seductive poses for the onlookers and listening in to our little show, had finally settled on making a seductive pose for _us_. Sirius wasn’t _posing_ , and both chorused the answer.

“Devil’s Snare!” 

There was no adequate response for that, and Sirius’ eyes crisscrossed over his stolen drink, so I took a sip instead. I braced myself for a frothy sweetness, overpowering any hint of alcohol.

Maybe I can play this to my advantage, smack my lips for maximum allure, and whatnot. 

I ended up choking on the taste of melted rubber.

“TRICK OR TREAT!” 

That was going to be a long, long night…

***

“Three vases had been reported missing from the head of houses’ private quarters, aside from Hufflepuff.“ Kingsley rubbed his forehead in befuddlement, pausing to re-read the words that distinguished his house. “Yes, Hufflepuff was spared. Humm.”

Every other step, the head boy’s glance slipped and rounded on me. His robes effortlessly accompanied his footsteps as he marched past the green chalkboard that detailed our assignments.

He had a clipboard.

“An armor suit is missing its helmet, The Ravenclaw's rug has been…otherwise misplaced and the house-elves reported a grand theft of a thousand candles.”

Aha, he forgot the chandelier.

“And those are just the reports from last week. Items had gone missing all over the place lately, and the thieves are getting bolder. “

His words were delivered in a deep-seated gruff; I have long suspected that Kingsley's voice cultivated the decision to name him head boy – nothing the faculty requested from the prefecture was deemed overly benign when spoken in Kingsley’s burly croak.

Today, the low registering tones were especially welcoming; I counted three other prefects that nursed a humongous hangover, other than myself. Even Evans was rubbing her temples, her hair tied together in a messy bun, with the tip of her wand peeking from the top.

“As of now, there are no suspects.” He informed us, stopping dead in his tracks, and openly staring at me. 

“Maybe Peeves?” I groaned weakly, receiving a few nods for my effort.

You got to love a good scapegoat.

Kingsley tapped his clipboard considerably, lips twitching as he skimmed over my seamless outfit, “Perhaps…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure how I feel about this one, do I love it? hate it? have a complicated emotional bond with it? I struggled with the writing for sure. Let me know what you think :)
> 
> The three children were originally enjoying a tootsie roll, only I realized its an American candy, and was it even a thing in the UK? I went deep into the candy bar industry after that - Hehe.
> 
> A side note for clarification about the "taste of melted rubber" - that was my way to describe cheap scotch.


	9. Lily Evans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recall The Signs? Well… 
> 
> This chapter was a LONG time coming, so although it is relatively short I wanted to take an extra few days to work it out.

**Chapter 8 - Lily Evans**

(A ghoul, The happy ending masseur, a crispy olive branch)

November’s rains brought with them an unfortunate occurrence among our numbers. It being Quidditch season, we constantly had one marauder with no energy and one with too much. So while Sirius tended to fall asleep at random places (and sometimes on random people), James was inflicted by an irrecoverable _itch._

He wasforever seeking an outlet for the vital forces bottling- up within him. 

“Mingebag berk!”

“Barmy Shrew.”

“Slag!”

“Nutter!”

“Insufferable MUPPET!”

“SMASHING LUSH!”

“What?”

“Are you as turned on as I am?”

“EXPELLIRMUS!”

Evans’ wand flew over Prongs’ thick head and into my outstretched palm. Both wizard and witch swivelled, noticing me and the remaining ten or so yawning students for the first time.

“Moony my HERO!” Prongs called, throwing his arms over his head in a swooning motion.

“Yeah, yeah keep it your pants.” I huffed, pushing him aside. The idiot was leaning over the stairs leading up to the Divination classroom.

James did not take Divination.

***

I tilted the porcelain. It was the vessel for my inner wisdom. The window of my third eye.

The tea mug.

It was chipped. 

“I see a ghoul.” I decided, handing over the mug back to Peter, aka the original tea drinker. He closed one eye examining the offering suspiciously. “A ghoul? I thought this was meant to be a LOVE reading.” He complained.

“The inner eye sees what the inner eye sees.” I shrugged as we made our way to the stands, picking our sits. Our friends were practicing for the upcoming match.

“ _I_ say it’s a lion” Peter mused, protruding two liquorice wands from his robes while I got the blue flames going. “Might be I’ll fall for a fella Gryffindor.”

I took the mug again, turning it distractedly, “definitely a Ghoul.”

“Students are not permitted to carry mugs outside.” Kingsley sighed, sitting next to me, and relieving me from the cup with one easy motion.

“You just made that up,” I noted, mind, there _was_ a rule prohibiting damaging school property, but I hardly believed light rain could damage this cup any further. 

The Hufflepuff cracked a smile, “Maybe.” He admitted languidly, “I needed a word – I changed the prefects’ assignment, I am pulling you and Evans on patrols this Friday and you can do Entrance Watch next Wednesday. “

“Er sure,” I muttered and since he made no move to get up I asked if there was anything else.

He thumbed the handle of the mug with luxurious leather gloves. I was ready for it to slip, or else break, but his hands were remarkably gentle in their explorations…

“I did not take you for a Quidditch fan.” He mumbled, evading my question.

“He likes to cheer on Pad- Sirius, “Peter chimed in, the sweet dangling from his lips with every word. James made a deep dive and my friend was suddenly clapping with the force of a hundred Banshees.

“If we don’t give him enough attention, he withers away.” I explained forlornly, “ouch, Peter what wa- oh, a-and the view is nice.”

Kingsley raised his eyebrows as I rubbed the spot where Peter’s foot kicked my leg. Bloody menace. Surprisingly, though, he nodded agreeably.

I guess that, being a keeper, he actually did find the view appeasing. The players’ red uniforms made them appear like little spots of godly vengeance; yelling instructions while playing their own little game of sticks and stones.

Fabian Prewett swirled past us with the Quaffle clutched in his arms whilst dodging Sirius’ Bludger. The boys were in the zone, flying back up as quickly as they came down.

That day, Kingsley watched the practice with us. When he gave Peter his mug back, it was with a perplexed frown - “looks like a Ghoul to me.”

***

“You’re going out with Evans, _again?”_

“We are not _going out_ , we are patrolling. “I corrected my indignant roommate and fellow marauder. James was not convinced, and resorted to following me all the way up to the portrait hole, stumping his feet for a dramatic soundtrack. 

Although Evans was waiting for me, she did not seem please when I arrived. I bore her no ill will.

“Love of my life!”

“Bane of my exitance.”

***

Tap – tap, tap-tap, tap-tap.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit weird?” Evans voice echoed in the empty classroom. No rule breaking around here, better move on to the next corridor.

Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap

“We always get paired together, why is that?”

Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap.

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic, people will talk.”

Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap.

Evans’s hips swung fluidly as we carried on. She was raised three inches of the ground and yet made no noise. How was that possible? Was she using a silencing charm or something?

I glared at my own heels.

Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap.

“I never got a chance to tell you this, but I really like your new…style.”

“Careful Evans, you’ll strain yourself giving me a compliment.”

“I can’t help it. It’s _those_ shoes. So elegant, so colorful, I am dying to get myself a pair. Do they come in quieter color?”

***

We stood side by side, soft white tufts falling over our shoulders. Everything should be okay, the crack was barely noticeable.

“Lupin?”

“Yes, Evans? “

“Didn’t this floor used to have a chandelier?”

***

“Bloody ‘ell, where did you learn to do _that?”_

“Padfoot, you are being way too loud…”

“Mhm, I can’t help it if it feels so good.”

“Do you two _mind?”_

Evans was flipping through her Divination translator. Once in a while, when a student returned or exited the common room, she wrote down a name. For the most part, though, she occupied herself with finishing up her assignment.

I was otherwise engaged.

I had Sirius crawled between my legs.

“Hey, why did you stop?“ Sirius asked petulantly, backing up into the V-shaped space. When my friend dragged himself back from practice and saw me by the entrance, he immediately summoned a stool for me to sit on (“Moony, you’re good with your hands, put that rubbing experience to good use.”) 

“You know, I get Black’s reasons.” Evans tusked, “but what are those two doing here?” 

I glanced over the pointy edge of Sirius’s shoulder; James and Peter were crossed legged, passing the chipped mug, and sipping alternately. 

“We’re a package deal, sweetheart” James pointed out, head bobbing up. He had his Evans-face on, which is how I dubbed his gaze-forward-side-grin-look-how-long-my-neck-is move.

It would have been more effective if he didn’t have his I heart Sirius Black shirt on.

At least he had the decency to change, though.

Working Sirius’ shoulders through his team uniform, I wished he had done the same. The fabric was dampened by a mixture of rain and sweat I rather not ponder over. It caused my fingers to itch. 

“They’re helping me with my divination report,” I muttered, sneaking past Sirius’s collar.

Merlin, I hope he showered.

“I don’t see a lot of writing going on.” Evans observed skeptically.

“It is called collecting data, Evans” I quipped, and demonstrated my point by glimpsing at the clumped tea leaves.

They looked like clumped tea leaves.

“Er, your relationship is bound to face many obstacles. Peter will cheat and James, you will not be happy about it.”

“No shite, mate, who can _he_ possibly get that’s better than ME?”

“Apparently? a Ghoul.”

***

Sirius arms were two Flobberworms hanging over my leather trousers. His cheek smeared against my inner thigh. 

He was the picture of relaxation.

“Padfoot you are so _stiff._ ” I purred, awakening him with a flinch.

He recovered quickly enough to throw his head back and _wink -_ “better loosen me up properly than, no?”

Despite the insolency, my friend’s skin was warm under my palms, “fetch me the oils and I’ll lubricate you right up.”

I reckon that smirking while flushed has to be some sort of a trophy worthy talent that Sirius, being the sole contester, is bound to win. “I figured you’d be a happy ending type of masseur.”

“You know me Padfoot,” I said laughingly, grazing a rebellious fingernail over my friend’s nape, “I love me a good fairy _-tale.”_

Funny thing - Evans coughed, Peter scratched his nose and James was ecstatically giving me the thumbs up (none too subtly, if I may add). Yet, I was momentarily distracted by Sirius’ incisors.

They were very sharp, you see. 

Equally blind, Sirius stretched further into my person, happy as a clam.

I reckon that was the third sign.

***

During our third year, James Potter sat me down on one memorable afternoon and voluntarily went on to specify why Quidditch was basically a one big turf war.

You had your arena, encompassing everything from the ground to the skies. 

The teams were fighting over the right to operate within said turf, which included all your run of the mill criminal activities -you had the Chasers moving products, and the Beaters assassinating anyone from rouge players, skulking in your territory, to the other team’s assassins. You even had that one morally ambiguous defence attorney, preventing you from getting too many blows.

Most importantly, he claimed, the war did not end until the Seeker caught the snitch.

Theoretically speaking, a Quidditch match could span over seconds or decades, with a varying range of probabilities. It is possible, then, for a match to last, say, three months.

Which was precisely how long the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match _felt_ like.

And it was all Sirius fault.

He was acting as an unofficial, mad seeker. Three times the snitch was located, and in all of those times, at least one Bludger was too close for the little golden ball to be captured.

The thunderstorm did very little to speed things along.

“You can catch the snitch but still lose the game, depending on your points.” Peter shouted in my ear, “The Ravenclaw seeker is a _machine,_ but the rest can barely ride a broom!”

“So basically, it’s _Prongs_ fault that I am getting frostbites?”

I had originally enchanted a large, weather-resisting, poster, supporting our comrades. However, it was currently floating upside down over our heads. 

The wind got in my face, and with so many cramped students, I couldn't even start a fire.

I always had a hunch that Prongs would be my undoing.

From the seat above, next to my other ear, came a distinguishable POP followed by an unmistakable CRUNCH.

“What you got there, Evans?” I asked the girl, who was munching on a round, salty delight.

“Walker Crisps, want some?” She offered while choosing another victim from the red bag. “It’s a muggle snack.” She added carelessly.

“Yes, I am very much aware, but where did you _get_ it?” 

Evans' head shot up, “you know it?” She asked, licking the residual salt from her lips.

Merlin, when was the last time I ate? Lunch? It must have been _hours_ ago.

As if she was reading my mind, Evans unceremoniously pushed a few students and skipped next to me. “Crisp?” She proposed-chewed, presenting me the bag with no apparent qualms.

And, if she momentarily forgot that I was a marauder, I was not about to object.

“Oh my god!” I moaned around the first crunch, “I forgot how good it was!"

“Right? I tried to offer _Sev-_ Mary, but she nearly had a seizure.” Evans' smile extended into a dimple. In the cold, her skin paled and tightened; the perfect canvas for the splatter of freckles across her nose.

”My mother sends me loads of sweets and snacks, she refuses to accept the fact that the other students can’t tell a Doritos from Mini Cheddars.”

“That’s brilliant,” I said around another crisp, by this point completely ignoring the game. “Mom loves to bake, so I only get cakes and stuff.”

I wrinkled my nose, “and I don’t even like sweets all that much.”

“Count your blessings,” Lily snorted, “my mom can’t make scrambled eggs without setting the house on fire.”

“I’ll trade you some of my home-cooked fudge for a packet of these bad boys any day, Evans.”

An uproarious wave of clapping and jumping up and down erupted around us. Ravenclaw caught the snitch, but Gryffindor won the game.

“You have yourself a deal, Lupin.”

Did I just make nice with Lily Evans?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. “playing their own little game of sticks and stones” - our boy is referencing a famous quote by Einstein “I do not know with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones”.  
> 2\. I desperately wanted to read a Snitch is a snitch joke/reference in an HP fic, so when the opportunity presented itself… I could not help myself :)
> 
> Side note (question?), does anyone likes CLAM CHOWDER? I know a certain Slytherin who does...


	10. Chapter 9 – Severus Snape and the Clam Chowder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: I’d like to believe that if you reached this far you understand that Sirius colorful insinuations can not be tamed. 
> 
> This chapter is SHORT, but I love it (muddle writing and all), I hope you will too.

**Chapter 9 – Severus Snape and the Clam Chowder**

(The cute round bum, the drop of a pin, Remus’ proposal)

Severus Snape liked Clam Chowder.

I know this because Sirius made a list.

A grand list.

A list he slaved over for a whole week, sparing no marauder from contributing to his efforts.

Hence, while he busied himself with scratching away at his parchment, the rest of us were watching. 

Snape that is, not Sirius (fake, longing glimpses not included).

We reported our findings, crossed over the results and after a quick reliability charm done by yours truly, we had achieved an undeniable outcome.

Severus Snape liked Clam Chowder.

It was his go-to dish, a clear favourite in the wintery months. Which was why neither of us were taken aback when the Slytherin’s table suffered a slight malfunction on the following Monday. A self-draining jinx to be exact, placed by the smug git next to the rosemary chicken plate.

By a stroke of bad luck, Snape had enlisted his wand in the struggle against the uncooperative dish.

It began to whoosh, whoosh whoosh against the crystal container until the unavoidable point of no return; a virtual whip-lash of hot liquid.

Only once it covered the boy, the table and three other Slytherins did Slughorn stumble his way forward to give them all a good telling for messing around with good food. Upon which point, my friend covered his mouth with both hands, yelling, “Please sir, can’t he have some more?”

It was nearly inconspicuous what with all the giggling, whispering and the overall scruffing of chairs and dropping of cutlery done in the attempts to get as far away from the screaming Slytherins. 

Mind, more often than not, you don’t scruple with what is being said to cause a second, third, or eighth wave of laughter, you laugh for laughing sake and that is what you remember in the aftermath – the laughing.

I scrupled.

I turned, the residual shaking causing my chest and shoulders to heave and drop even while speaking.

“Oliver Twist? _Really_?”

Still glowing with self-satisfaction, Sirius barked.

”My mother nagged me to read from infancy, and I did so with her in mind.” He explained, winking. “Impressed?”

“Honestly? yeah, your rebelliousness knows no bounds.” I said, shaking my head “that is impressively scary.” 

I have to fight off another wave of laughter, only I don’t want to, so I give in halfway. Sirius lasting time is even shorter, and we end up crumping into a shared space when I catch Peter nudging James.

“W-we should go before Slug finds a way to pin it on us.” I hiccups, straightening up.

Again, Sirius is right at my heels, getting his own breath in order. “You’re always thinking one step ahead, aren’t you?” He says, though whether he is chastising or commandeering me, is anyone’s guess.

His mirth is reduced into that lazy smile of his, and it stretches his lips _just_ enough.

Time pretty much slowed down from there.

***

Lily never confronted me about Snape, and in return, I did not comment on her placing a balding jinx on James for serenading her cleavage during Potions (mesmerizingly, the three-hour regrowth crème took less than fifteen minutes for full effect!).

Instead, we warmed ourselves by the fireplace, the common-room emptying around us. We were nearing the end of November and as such migrated further and further away with every passing watch duty.

The feathery sticks rolled over, a wheft of melted sugar dominating the room.

Next to the hot bricks, our half-empty bag of provisions was crumbling into itself.

“You are brilliant,” I declared, licking my fingers “I might need to fight James over your hand in marriage.”

“You are hilarious, I might need to fight _Black_ over _yours_.”

“Too - shea.” I fake-sighed, attempting the best forlorn expression I can while I Accio the next two quills.

It had become increasingly apparent that Lily was much better at pimping out her acquaintances than Prongs ever was.

She would pry, hint and tip-toe around the subject like a lioness stalking her prey.

She also had much better snacks.

She had Marshmallows.

“The fire-resisting charm was a nice touch” Lily allowed, snatching one of the floating treats mid-air. She swung her feet over one side of her chair, licking the burnt-out edges before indulging in a sticky bite.

“And here I thought _Black_ was the expert on all things _smoking_.”

***

“Lily believes I have the hots for Padfoot!”

The beddings springs dipped and jumped underneath the unpredicted weight of my body. Sirius scrunched his nose at the uninvited addition to his bed, James chocked on the fuming toothpaste bubbling in his mouth, and Peter, who had his shirt over his head, stopped - arms caught in the sleeves. “You sure?“

“Oh yeah, we spent the last _hour_ debating his most attractive attribute –“

“Abs?”

“Hair?”

“Face?”

“Bum.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bum.” I repeated, making a vague circular motion with my hand “I insinuated that I am quite fond of your cute, round bum.”

“I have a cute bum?”

“A cute, _round_ bum.”

***

CLINCK.

The pin cushion hit the floor in a straight downward trajectory.

It never had a chance.

“Oops, I am such a _klutz!_ whatever shall I do?”

“PICK IT, PICK IT, PICK IT!”

Peter and James chanted and whistled as if Mcgonagle was above grounding them for the rest of their _lives._

Undeterred by such boring concepts, Sirius, who was in his way to return his transfiguration accessory, leered. 

And bent over.

***

“So how come you aren’t porking anyone?”

“Porking?”

“Porking. The act of having vigorous sexual intercourse with another, preferably alive, human.”

Lily jiggled her spoon before swallowing it whole; creamy, smooth chocolate smeared the corner of her mouth. “Porking.”

***

“A scandal in the Wizengamot- a Banshee undone.” Padfoot readout, “finally moved on to the _adult_ section, eh?”

I had the sofa all to myself, giving the boy plenty of room, yet a stranded boot still found its way onto my lap. “Should I expect to be _ravaged_ by your velvety member Tuesday after Charms? “

“I’ll have you know it is source material for my DADA essay,” I answered placidly, “but I can pin you in for Friday morning.” 

“Quidditch practice. How ‘bout a quick battel with our tounges instead?”

“Can I rip your shirt all roughly and pop the buttons?” 

“At this point? It is mandatory.”

“Fantastic, shall I inform Prongs? He’ll be ecstatic.”

“Hardcore. Why am I not surprised?”

The little Mongrol’s smirk disappeared when I pushed his foot away.

Out of annoyance, mind you.

_Not_ discomfort.

***

Come Friday I had the misfortune of waking up to the closeup view of Sirius’ lips, shrunk together into a wet, cringe - arousing heart shape.

***

In my more innocent years, my mother used to tell me about the boy who thought the moon was a cookie. I reckon that was why I got a rush of satisfaction, breaking the monstrous chocolate chip and passing Lily her share.

A coarse, raspy trudge trailed behind us as we navigated our way to Ancient Runes. 

“Lord! Mrs Lupin doesn’t do anything half-arsed, does she?” 

“Wait till the next time I’ll get dumped - she likes to send me an eat-your-body-weight-pity-package.” 

“You are taking a lark!”

“In third year, after being forced to go through a barmy Quidditch diet, James wrote her that I was miserably dumped and that the girl was two-timing me with Peter. She sent me a triple-decker the next day.”

Lips quirking at the reminder, I added - “Peter’s been getting STD home tests for his birthday the last three years.“

“HEY!” The hovering stormy cloud at the rear rumbled, pocking my back with an accusing finger. “I seem to recall that I was not eating that cake _alone._ “

“It was from _his_ mother, wasn’t it?” Lily jumped in before wiping down the rest of her cookie with a teeth-sinking crunch.

Sometimes I have to wonder if Prongs’ wires did not get knotted together growing up; the boy was way too alive with pleasure when he sneered. 

“He could’ve written her back saying I made the whole thing up. But NO, he ate some cake and let Pete take the fall.”

“Can you _not_ drag me into your twisted foreplay? Thanks ever so.”

“I’d like to be likewise excluded.” Lily mourned, quickening her pace.

My dormmate, however, adopted an up-bit swagger - “you keep saying that, but no one’s buying the hard-to-get act.”

That seemed like a misstep. 

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

Called it.

Should I intervene? you can’t exactly get quality TV in Hogwarts, and I had cookies…

“Look, I am not saying the unresolved sexual tension wasn’t a fun ride an all, but how about we try something 5.4 feet and up, eh?”

Ohhh I wonder if she’ll slap him.

“You are five seconds from permanent limping _._ ”

Bugger, where is Padfoot when I need to make a kink-alert?

“Go out with me, and _I_ won’t be the one doing the limping.”

Prongs had to use my shoulder as a crutch for the rest of the day.

***

My friend recent fail bore a crucial question - What was I doing researching romance books all those weeks when I had a live media depicting the worst one-sided crush of our times? 

Granted, Prongs and Lily were not fast friends, but I was still left with the bitter taste of a missed opportunity.

No matter how I thought about it, a grand confession was in order.

The bloody books backed it up, too. 

Whenever the geeky, usually much better choice, friend was in love with the main character, their unrequited love always reached its limits. They will then proceed to make a spontaneous, out of the blue, borderline on anger-management-material declaration.

Most importantly, though, they would get rejected.

And what does love sworn enemies do? They get skunk drunk.

In a club.

Basically, I had a golden ticket, and all I had to do to cash it in was get rejected by Padfoot. 

No Biggy. Padfoot rejects students on a daily basis.

Mentally.

Surly, a verbal rejection would be just as natural from the king of scoff?

Shockingly, though, the idea of attacking Sirius after class with a random confession wasn’t very appealing.

I also did not care much for James notion of courtship. I had doubts it will grant me any sympathy favours with Lily(i.e. the club taker). 

No.

That was a matter best tackled delicately…

***

“You want to go out Saturday?”

Sirius’ ladle froze, causing his potion to lose shade.

We had a total of nine students in the NEWTS level Potions class. Mind, in Hogwarts, that was all it took.

I kept my voice high and even, stirring all the while.

“On a date, that is.”

James dropped a jar of lacewings, Peter whistled softly (“Bloody ’eck, but I did not see that one coming!”), and Sirius did what Sirius does best.

He smiled.

“Why, I thought you’d never ask.” 

In hindsight, the fourth sign was all on me…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What??? Could it be true? Would we finally get to read some proper fake dating? And where was our burly head boy?  
> And whatever happened with Peter and the Chandelier?  
> All in due time - the upcoming chapters are being furiously and excitedly written as you read. 
> 
> TA!


	11. No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am BACK! I had to go through a cutthroat editing mood with this one, but boy am I BACK. 
> 
> I would like to preempt this chapter with a warm THANK YOU to a reader that took their time and alerted me on some reoccurring spelling mistakes throughout the fic.  
> If you are over by your screen cringing at a reoccurring (and not so reoccurring) spelling error, give me a shout! Alas, editor programs can only do so much. 
> 
> The same might be said for my third grade English teacher (sorry Mrs L) :)

**Chapter 10 – No.**

(Werewolves’ migraines, The Plan - subcategorized, Dating Marauders)

A friendship with Sirius Black was like a vain. It could function swimmingly twenty, thirty, forty days until you hit a climate change. 

Then it popped. 

“Would you like to go out on Saturday? On a date that is.“ 

The sound of shattered glass takes over the classroom, James’s lacewings are strewn like unmarked graves in a battlefield, and for a brief, self-deluding moment I convince myself that is why Sirius is smiling.

Because Prongs is a git, and I am in on the joke. 

“Why, I’d thought you’d never ask.”

Somewhere in the front of the class, Slughorn coughs. 

“W-what?” 

“Saturday, yeah? I’d love to go out with you Moony.” 

Pop. 

***

If you take a left from the dungeons, five feet off the ground, there is a patch of wall that is significantly dented. Unquestionably, the result of many potion-mishaps related quarrels. 

Sirius’ head hit the spot with a BAM; drops of chipped clay mangling in his hair.

“Damn Moony, I always said you liked it rough, but I didn’t mean it like _that.”_

“Explain,” I demanded, crossing my arms, and tapping my foot. By some sort of NEWT-worthy magic, I managed to get Sirius out in time to buy some extra…Minutes? Seconds? How long will it be before our classmates hunt us down? 

Not enough, I’d wager. Better make it quick.

“You agreed to go out with me. Why?” 

“You are not very high on the self-confident scale, are you?” 

POP.

“Okay, okay, don’t give me that martyr expression,” Sirius laughed, resting his head against the dent, as if it was his second home or something. “I was only following _your_ lead.” 

“You were meant to say NO. “ I sighed emphatically “So I could be heart-broken - wipe that smug grin off your face- and Lily could commiserate with me, _then_ proceed to take me out to drown my sorrows in the nearest gay club!”

Thankfully, being obtuse wasn’t one of Sirius’s flaws; my lungs were protesting for overtime after that speech, but I got my point across all right.

“You read way too many romance books. You know that?”

POP. POP. POP. 

***

“Dump him. “

Wormtail didn’t elaborate; his fingers progressed an inch at a time until he reached the Hula Hoops bag laying between us. 

I slapped him away. 

“Don’t you dare, that’s my consolation food.” 

“A wee taste.”

“No.”

“A bite?” 

“No.”

“Just to see if I can make them swivel?” 

“No.“

“Engorgio it?” 

“No.” 

Wormtail frowned and turned to Padfoot who, together with his fellow menace, was contemplating the two robes spread over his bed. 

They were identical. 

“Dump him.” 

***

Padfoot did not dump me. 

Regardless of any pleas, threats and even one formally submitted handwritten request. 

My friends were hell-bent. By nighttime, a stretched pillowcase hung underneath the sheet plan, colored in Prongs' vibrant handwriting.

“The Plan – Subcategories: Dating.” 

That it was empty did very little to reassure me – it was only a matter of time after all, and Prongs was already pacing in half moon tracks around it.

Me and Wormtail migrated onto headquarters. We had to scrunch our toes, though, because Padfoot’s robes were still spread over it.

From his own little orbit, Prongs kept muttering vague, captaincy motivational quotes.

“If you believe it, you can do it!”

“It’s harder to beat a person who never gives up!”

“ _You_ are your only limit!”

“FEEL THE BURN!”

_Oh my._

Against my better judgment, I zoned in on Sirius. For once, the boy kept the sordid commentary to himself, smacking his mouth; forefinger chafing his lips, chin, jaw… His muscles jumped, synchronizing with my own as I tried to regulate air in and out of my nose. At times like this, it was hard to tell if Sirius was what helped me reign it in, or if he was what made it so darn difficult in the first place.

***

“No.”

Sirius eyebrows collapsed into themselves. I don’t care - let him pout if he must.

We were alone when I came out of the shower. No doubt, by the design of one of my dormmates (Prongs).

Give the almost couple their privacy and other such cockamamie ideas. I shivered to think what he and Wormtail were plotting together. There was a point where every boy must stop and ask himself if he was getting too involved with his roommates' fake dating scheme.

Of course, it wasn’t too bad having the dorm half empty. I quite fancied a quiet night for a change. 

Mind, I could have done without the clipboard.

“No.”

“Hear me out!”

“No.” 

“We have to plan this out,” Sirius stressed. Despite myself, I plopped down on his bed, peeking at the abominable creation in his lap.

The clipboard that is. 

“Top places Remus Lupin should take Sirius Black out on a date, written by Sirius Black.” 

_Oh hell no._

“One, stargazing, champagne and strawberries at the astronomy tower.”

_Where am I getting this champagne from? No._

“Two, lake-side picnic followed by a canoe ride in the moonlight.”

_Getting strangled to death by a giant squid? In the moonlight? Double No._

“Three, Hogsmeade, a shopping spree - you want a shop and fuck date? Really?”

Twitching, Sirius uncrossed and re-crossed his legs, “No one said anything about _fucking_.”

He was plucking his blankets and sniffing until I gave up.

I snatched the clipboard.

And threw it over.

“OY!”

“It’s terrible. “ I deadpanned.

“Take that back!”

“T-e-r—r-i-b-l-e. “ I spelt, and by the time Sirius released me from the chokehold we were both huffing too much to argue. Underneath us, the mattress moved in little waves as I stared blankly at the canopy ceiling. My friend was likewise occupied.

“You are awfully invested in this date. “

“Yes well, Sirius Black does not half-arse his dates. Fake or no fake.” He sneered.

I lolled my head, replacing the view of red curtains with that of a condescending dunderhead. 

“Is it because you have so few of them?”

***

“Psst, Mooney, psst you up? Why are you on the floor?”

Oval and bright, Peter’s face shone in the dark dormitory, floating above me like a combination between Humpty Dumpty and Cheshire the cat. 

“Padfoot kicked me out of headquarters. Seemed like as good a place as any to drowse off.” 

“Aye, you’ve been known to nap in weirder places.” Peter allowed, scrunching on his toes. The cold tiles hugged my back and it went a long way in waking me up properly. My eyes traveled southward, reaching the red, feathery, six inches stiletto boots Peter was dangling between us.

“No.”

***

When Lily and I came back from our patrol, Wednesday night, it was to find the common room in lively spirits; my friends, the entire quidditch team and a fair amount of overworked OWL students were blowing off steams, passing butterbeers from one person to the next.

“An afternoon study date in the restriction section.” 

“The Quidditch field, after hours, secret practice!” 

“The forbidden forest, a midnight stroll. “

“What the -“ 

“Moony, Evans darling!” James called from the center of the laughter fermented circle, “Come join the game!”

“It’s after hours. _Why_ are you lot not in bed?” 

“Haud yer Wheesht!” Marlene cried pulling me and Lily down to all fours. To her credit, she had enough decency to pass me a drink. 

It was Peter’s 

It had a lipstick mark on it. 

“We ur playin’ Marauders Datin’.” She explained as she passed another uninviting bottle, “the rules ur simple, ye name the place, time, an’ activity. Winner takes the pot.” 

“I told them you didn’t like my canoe idea.” Sirius barked while someone’s hand winded up around my shoulder - could have been Marlene’s, could have been Peter’s - stirring until I am pushed to the center. 

“Ye can judge.” 

“Um…”

***

Marauders Dating had gone global. 

By Friday, I was accosted by nearly headless Nick, sure as day that I was taking Sirius for a night cup, Slughorn’s cellar. It would have been a lot less distressing if I could participate myself. The pot did not sound too shabby. Rumor had it Longbottom was in a year worth of pocket money. The Prewett twins went so far as to put down a singular grey hair, plucked from Professor Flitwick's head himself. No question asked. 

“Cheers Moony, we can always share the spoils.” James offered, “Detention, McGonagall office, dusk.” 

I told him what I told every other Gryffindor with the exact same offer. 

No. 

I already _had_ a date plan. 

No one guessed it. 

And it was _good._

***

“You’ve taken me to Pudifoot's?"

Sirius’ voice was a roller coaster; a peak of compressed air right before the fall. He was shaking by the time we stood in front of the glassy, frill decorated windows.

It was the first week of December, and Sirius chose the thinnest outerwear robe in his closet.

Having my mother’s sniffs, huffs and tusks stuck in mind from the moment we wandered out of the castle, I offered him my coat.

It was furry and twice my size.

And black.

Per Wormtail’s insistence, I was shirtless underneath.

“Dinner first, second base later.” My friend grouched, stubbing his boot against the door.

Flopped over, a wooden plaque read “Closed.” 

“Tell me you checked the times.”

“I did,” I said, pulling his elbow around the tea shop. Across the foggy storefront and covered cakestands, the shop was empty.

“It’s closed!”

“It is – watch your steps.”

It was late but not enough to merit a Lumos. Besides, when you dressed in a long, black overcoat and skulked around the local shop _back door_ , it was wiser not to draw unnecessary attention.

“Er, Moony?”

“Did you know that the Madam takes Wednesdays and Saturdays’ nights off? Lets her clerk do the closeup.” 

“That’s, er, whatshisname? The greasy little fellow?”

“The Fletcher bloke. Yes. Foul manners. Foul work ethics too. Doesn’t bother with half the protection charms – Alohomora – and he likes to take off early. “

The brass handle clicked, and we stepped inside. Nothing happened. No detection charms, no hacking curses. We stood among folded-up chairs over round tables - no clerks, no house-elves and no Madam in sight. 

God, I love a good, bad part-timer.

Sirius, evidently, disapproved.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

“No, go on, spill, what’s wrong?” 

“I mean, it’s our first date and it seems like you went out of your way just to get away from paying the bill. “

The spoiled bugger was _glowing_.

In the very back of the store, the till loomed - “whoever said we are here for dinner?” I skipped over to the counter - if I made a right, a kitchen filled with fruity sensuous scents was up for the taking. 

I did not make a right.

Instead, I leaned above the unmarked jars, stretched across the wooden surface, and covered my friend’s hand with my own. His eyes, large and grey, dropped down as if magnetized.

“This is not a laughing matter Padfoot,” I implored, whisperingly. “This is something I had wanted for a long, _long_ time.”

He nodded and looked up; at me, behind me, every each way - “me too.” 

“Good.”

Now that the unhinged git finally grasped the gravity of the situation, I turned.

And faced the curtain.

A closed, thick, pink curtain.

“I recall saying that if I ever took you out, it’d be behind that curtain.”

***

Growing up, pillow forts and drawing on walls were a big no-no in my household. 

I did it anyway.

To this day, a yellow palm print that can only be tied down to a rogue toddler can be found next to my old nightlamp. 

Stepping through the pink curtain was like getting elbow dip in a bottle of gouache paint.

And taking a tour around the house. 

We walked the creaky wooden floor. Sirius took the rear. I felt his steps with every bump.

The lights were off. 

“Lumos.” He muttered, so quiet it could have been a silent spell. 

Maybe it was.

At the end of our compressed tunnel was another curtain.

This one was not pink. It was not frilly.

“Do it.”

***

Lumpy. That was the best description for Puddifoot’s back room. Heaps and heaps of straw bags lined up against the walls, on the floor, on top of each other, next to each other. There were eight spots of clear wood at the most. Sirius and I had to struggle not to stumble in the search for a solid grip. 

The walls must have had shelves, but an assortment of medium to small sized straw bags were concealing them from sight. There were other things as well; unmarked potpourri, flower pots brimming with soils and even a poorly maintained birdcage.

It had no birds in it.

“This is so much cooler than the astronomy tower,” Sirius whistled, stumping on lumpy bags and rummaging through anything he could get his paws on. “Are we low on lacewings? She has a bag full of the shite.”

“We are not _stealing_ from the Madam.” I groaned, sniffing a handful of dried orange leaves. 

“What? we’re the _Marauders_ Moony. Of course we are stealing from her.”

“You want to be seen carrying her merchandise? Without Prongs’ cloak?”

“Vindictive plonker, couldn’t handle you not telling him your date plan,” Sirius said. Smiling.

“With good reason, accessory after the fact is a real thing,” I muttered, navigating my way in the wasteland of opiates.

“Only if you get caught. We won’t get caught.” 

“And why is that?”

“It’s your plan. Your plans always follow through.”

“Padfoot…”

“Yeah, Yeah - we trust you too much sometimes but I swear Moo-“

“Padfoot you need to see this.”

Stepping back, I allowed my friend to clumsily stumble closer. Shoulders exchanging fleeting kisses, I pointed the bag protruding from the pile by my feet. Red, bright, letters were imprinted over the straw in a rushed scrawl – “O.G.P.T.S.P”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re like me, and you love fluff-fics, you’ve probably read the Puddifoot's tea shop date variation a million times over. However, don’t you go shouting Cliché in my comments! Moony HAD to make good on his promise.
> 
> Also, Marlene was not drunk, she just told Remus to shut up. 
> 
> P.S Did you all catch my shout out to "Top Reasons Remus Lupin Should Crush on One Sirius Black, written by Sirius Black"?  
> Could it be that another little bonus chapter is coming your way? MAYBE. I am considering it.


	12. The not snogging of Sirius Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: do not feed your dog chocolate.

Chapter 11 – The not snogging of Sirius Black

(A passageway, Hot butter rum, A praise kink)

The last signs were less than a week apart. All were loosely related to _that bag._

“Bloody ‘ell” Sirius slurred. His fingers gripped my shoulder for support as I dropped to my knees - “Whoa what are you doing there, mate?”

“Clutch harder, why don’t you?” I snorted, digging for gold and coming up with an amalgam of dry twigs, thorns and lemony colored petals. 

It smelled like cinnamon.

“What is it?”

“Haven’t the foggiest, “I admitted, probing the mixture with my thumb. It prickled.

“No instructions,” Sirius noted after joining me in my fumbling adventure; there was no pickup date. No order number. No contact information in case of emergencies.

Nothing.

So why did Sirius’s breath end on a snicker?

***

“It’s a mystery!” He cooed while I counted ten long strides. We stood in the middle of the path. The tea shop at our back. Scrivenshaft’s quill shop up ahead. We huddled together, rubbing our hands and using misty exhales to warm them up.

At the side of the road, a lamplight refused to work.

“You do it.”

I shook my head, “ _I_ did it last time. You’re up.”

“It’s freezing. My lips will fall off!” 

“And mine are what? naturally hot?”

“YES!”

I blinked, watching the pinkish frostbite at the tip of my friend’s nose disappear and re-appear in the exhaled fog. “Fine, be a big baby.” I resigned, marching up to the lamplight; tapping against rust and blue paint until I found the right spot.

_There._

Braving the yuckiness of it all, I bumped my lips against the metal bar. 

It lit up, shining a distorted egg shape over the wall.

A handle protruded from the mossy bricks, glinting merrily in the streetlight.

My friend clasped me, stirring us through the door-wall. Cackling in my ear all the while.

“I knew your kiss would turn it on.” 

***

We called it the courter’s passageway, and it started off impossibly low.

And dingy.

I used my wand for flames while Sirius unfolded the map. He kept close to the fire and by extension, to me. Gradually, the ceiling got higher and higher; a telltale sign that we breached the castle. In the meantime, my friend’s conspiratorial musings reverberated against stone walls.

“It has to be a student. Right? No faculty member would support a secret club.”

“Unless you count the Slug Club.”

“Those uptight ninnies? Please.”

“Padfoot, _you_ arein the Slug Club.”

“Which is precisely how I know they are uptight ninnies – should we snog?”

I paused, “You want us to _what?”_

“Snog.” He repeated, guiltily, “Or, well, look it. It’s the end of the date right? People would expect us to snog.”

“What if our date tanked?” I tried lamely. To which, he answered with a crease between his eyes - “did it?”

Complicated question, wasn’t it?

I had a sample of an unknown substance in my pocket, which I obtained after breaking and entering and was currently in the midst of smuggling it into my school, through a secret passageway, with which I’ve gotten to first base.

And I did it all with Sirius Black practically draped all over me. 

“No.” I summarized, “it did not.”

***

We emerged from the other side of the mirror; unkempt outer robes and sufficiently rumpled hair.

“This couldn’t wait until we reached the portrait?” I asked, resignedly loosening another button. At this rate, it would have been easier to come into the common room shirtless (“No Padfoot!”).

“The more people see us, the better.” Sirius murmured into my temple, the map carelessly tucked away in the willowy fabric of his outfit.

“No one is going to see us. If someone sees us we get detention. I am a prefect. Prefects don’t get detention.” 

“Lupin?”

Someone saw us.

Kingsley halted in his tracks, taking in our disheveled appearance with a slacking jaw.

“W-what are you doing here?” 

“Rounds.” He answered, straightening up into full capacity.

In a Hufflepuff nightgown.

And no shoes.

It was no mere feat looking authoritarian with no shoes.

Kingsley almost made it work.

“Ri-ght,” I said, exchanging a solemn nod with the other boy– an unspoken code of understanding between two responsible figures caught doing irresponsible things in the middle of the night.

A hasty goodbye, some awkward coughs and a few minutes later, we were nearing the fat lady portrait. Detention free. 

“He was _not_ doing rounds.” Sirius scoffed indignantly into my ear.

‘Neither was I.” I reminded him, “let’s be glad he didn’t deduct any points – you ready?”

“Pshh, I was _born_ ready,“ he drawled, as if the prospect of snogging me silly was one of the many croocked aspirations drilled into the young Black during his cradle days – sire an heir, bribe the Wizengamot, rise to power, make out with a werewolf…

The topic of Kingsley, and his mysterious midnight strolls, was thereby postponed for the foreseeable future. 

***

Sirius added an extra skip to his steps while my hand ghosted the small of his back. The hardest thing was not looking at anybody else. We kept our eyes on each other and climbed up the stairs. For all intent and purposes, we did not hear Gideon Prewett cry out “Prefects’ bathroom, late-night skinnydipping!”

And as such, I did not proceed to make a point by point argument on the ineffectiveness of mixing fur with eucalyptus-scented bubbles.

***

“Do we… smoke it?” Peter asked, examining the mixture of leaves in front of him with mounting interest.

We camped at headquarters.

“No Wormtail, we do not smoke it,” James chastised, white knuckles bumping against his chin in consideration, “do we?” he added on second thought.

Turning to _me_. 

Merlin, I hated when they did that. I do not have _all_ the answers.

That was Padfoot’s job.

And you had to pay him two gallons. 

Three for Arithmancy.

***

“I thought we were the only students in business with the madam,” James sniffed ruefully after Sirius and I finished telling our accounts of the evening.

Peter preferred to scrutinize us with alternating glances; blinking rapidly as if trying to shake away a fleeting purple spot after staring at the sun for too long.

The cinnamon-scented petals rested on Sirius’s bureau, wrapped in scrap parchment. Unsmoked. 

“D’you think it’s a Gryffindor?” Sirius, ever enthralled by the opportunity to co-conspire, asked.

Blink. 

“’Spect it is,” James hummed contemplatively,” all the verified guests so far are. “

“Except for Nigel.“ I jumped in, “ _he_ was in Ravenclaw.”

Blink.

James was not convinced, “Ravenclaws don’t have the stomach to pull it off.” 

“But they have the _brains_. “ I countered, “it’s a club right? _Someone_ needs to do their books. Chances are _they_ ’d be the one dealing with the merchandise!”

“Brilliant,” Sirius barked,” I love it when you do the house-equality speech-“

“ - Because you always misinterpret it.“

Blink.

“We are all capable of wrongdoing, Padfoot, we simply go about it in different _ways_ ,”” Sirius said, dropping his voice into an upbraid while fixing an imagned pin on his debouched robes.

His free hand rested on my knee in presumptuous understanding.

“ _I_ never touch you when I do the speech, and you know it.“ 

“I bet you want to, though.” 

Blink.

Sirius’ pinky moved an inch.

Apparently, that was Peter’s breaking point.

“Allrigh’ I give up! Did you, or did you not, snogged! _?_ ”

Remarkably, Sirius’s hand still hadn’t moved.

That was the fifth sign.

***

Predictably, Peter was not alone in his curiosity. Sunday confronted me and Sirius with numerous requests for the play by play of our date. Most inquiries were on the behest of finding out who won the pot. Some had a genuine intrigue intone attached. A few were reduced to smooching sounds and the verbal equivalents of second-year insults.

Those were Slytherins.

And Prongs.

The latter took a five-minute break on Monday when Lily came over to discuss our next prefects meeting.

Two conversations unfolded until they inevitably intersect. 

“Kingsley is at it again.” She sighed dramatically, making herself at home on my desktop while I dug out the reminder of mom’s latest package. A brownie - box.

Sirius’s ears perked, James’s eyes narrowed, and Peter’s mouth watered.

“Whoever said Hufflepuff don’t go mad with power was an idiot.” I declared sadly, determined to ignore my friends’ newest antics.

(“That’s madness that is, giving presents to _girls_ in the middle of the day.”)

“Two…Four…Five – perfect!”

Sufficiently pleased with her delivery, Lily put it aside. “I reckon he is trying out for the Aurors. _They_ don’t think much about taking Saturdays off either.”

(“What d’you suppose is in it? Brownies?“ ) 

“He wants to hold a meeting on the _weekend_?”

“A Hogsmeade weekend.” She groaned, eyes wandering ever so slightly to Sirius. “I say we agree with whatever he says and get the hell out.”

(“No way. Must be somthin’ he nicked from an unsuspectin’ first year. Prefects gets to keep all the good stuff.”)

“Oh? A hot date?”

(“Screw it, I am going in, cover for me!”)

”Shopping list. Only two weeks left for Christmas you know!”

Confident that Lily was as aware of the three musketeers as I was, I allowed myself a much-needed eye roll when Sirius’s chin bounced against my shoulder.

“Remus wouldn’t know about _that_ , he’dleave his shopping to Christmas eve if he could.” He had one hand caressing my forearm and another crawling on the desk, only to be left out hanging when Lily snatched the box away.

“Well,” she said with a polite, if not amused, little smile, “maybe this year he’ll have a reason not to.”

And with that cringe-worthy hint, she left to claim her seat. Far away from the likes of us.

“I don’t think she likes you as much as we originally thought.” Padfoot helpfully notified me, his chin bobbing lazily against my robes.

It was only much later, when James shared his latest theory with our members, that either of us fully grasped the gravity of Lily’s words.

“Doesn’t it strike you as strange, that the same week Pudifoot gets a shipment for O.G.P.T.S.P , just happens to coincide with the _last_ Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas’ break?”

“You can’t think they’re planning on picking it up during the visit?” I asked. Surly, a student walking around with a large sack filled with a dark magical substance would raise some suspicions among the passersby?

“How many students do you think know about the secret passageways _and_ how to use them to get in and out of the castle, without getting caught?” 

I’d wager four. On a good day.

“Well, whatever you’re planning to do, count me out,” I said bitterly, “I imagine Kingsley would be working me to the bone on Saturday.”

“Kingsley should latch on to his _own_ prefect,” Sirius bit out suddenly, taking a step closer.

“That’s right, Moony is spoken for! Can’t have you two-timing our man here. Godric forbids he shall throw a hissy fit,” James hurried to agree, his bombastic, outlandish grin somewhat dispersing his predecessor's snark (re: the sixth sign).

***

There is a muggle game involving a pack of cards that need to be stacked on top of each other. If the foundation is too weak, the whole thing comes tumbling down.

The last sign was somewhat akin to placing the last card, on top of a slapdash five stories stack of cards. Blindfolded. In a storm. With the window open. 

And hot butter rum.

It was one of those rare, idle evenings, sponsored by ungraceful weather, that unavoidably enervated students to get a pesky assignment out of the way, or else reorganize the socks drawer.

Sirius was already four inches into his two-feet paper and had balled up all of our socks on his bed. Waving the alcoholic offering underneath my nose was the natural next step.

I can not quite explain the revision table he dropped to my lap.

“Why, good on you Padfoot, it’s about time you put all that listing energy into a proper cause!”

“That’s a study plan. For our relationship.” He said. Proudly.

“Our –“

“Relationship.”

“…”

“Dating scheme.”

“…”

“An orderly progression of events, if you will. “

I flipped through the meticulous table. It had heart drawings decorating important dates. One of which, a very long way off, sent me into a coughing fit.

Four letters, start with S, end with G. 

About a month and a half ago I asked Sirius about a conversation he had with Marlene. Today, I was surrounded by falling cards. 

***

It became abundantly clear that Sirius Black had a secret. It weighed on him enough to confide with our house confessional, a fellow teammate. It was somehow related to his bizarre behavior throughout The Plan. It was most likely related to his _proclivities_.

It was up to me to figure it out. 

Like any half-decent detective, I attempted to put myself in the mindset of my target. 

I made a list.

It was rather short, as lists went. It had all but one numbered article in it:

  1. ~~Feelings~~ Flirting (???)



“…so if anyone is planning on staying for the break …the faculty…”

Funny word. Flirting.

“… let me know and we can all be on our merry way…”

General. Could mean anything, really.

“…Anyone at all…”

Some people flirt out of boredom, for example.

Brilliant and energetic young men like Sirius had a wacky way with boredom. 

“ANYONE!”

“O-oh, I am staying over. “ I jumped, Lily’s razor-sharp fingernails digging puncture wounds in my arm. A few prefects murmured in relief, others rushed to get out of the murky classroom in hopes to get into the slightly less murky streets of Hogsmeade.

Kingsley resembled a single parent who was just told he had vacation days off, and that the best course of action would be to trust his latest project to the office intern. A temp. That in all likelihood landed the job trough unspeakable connections to the management and would much prefer to use his time pursuing his long-term goal of becoming a dragon tamer.

“I reckon a bit of vacation time would do ol’ Shacklebolt a world of good,” I mused. Lily and I made our way through the rain-soaked grounds. Curfew was still hours away, and there was no sense in roaming Hogsmeade alone.

Not to mention, Lily proved to be excellent company. 

We went to Honeydukes first, then to and Scrolls Bookshop and even Zonko’s, which was mainly to humour me, but she still managed to leave with a small wrapped bag. She was oddly private about it and refused to let me peek inside.

It wasn’t until we went by Dervish and Bangs that I noticed the big black dog. 

There were not many people out on the streets. We considered popping into the Three Broomsticks, but it was jampacked with students trying to wait out the rain. And, Lily, as it turned out, had a soft spot for strays.

Bulky, fang bearing, heavy drooling, deathly ominous canines included. 

“Poor thing, it must be freezing!”

As if in response, the monstrous dog shook his fur, spraying us with rainwater before he ran ahead under dripping rooftops. He sat down, lolling a long, red tongue.

“Oh, look, he’s waiting for us! What a _good_ boy.”

I cleared the gunk out of my coat, “Yes, yes, lovely.” I said icily. Wormtail was going to off me.

A loud snap made both me and the dog jump. Lily cracked a KitKat in half, delighted when the dog skipped over, shaking his tail. 

Unbelievable; with the amount of snacks the girl had stashed away, she could very well rival Honeydukes.

“Can dogs eat chocolate? I can never remember. Better not risk it, I guess.”

The dog circled us enthusiastically, though when it became apparent that he was not getting the promised treat, he ran ahead again. I was thus attacked by a disturbing flash of its holier than now human-form lapping a KitKat out of Lily’s hand. 

Actually, it made for an interesting idea.

“You know, I reckon you can make some extra gallons if you put your mind to it.”

The dog’s ears flopped up approvingly.

“You want me to _sell_ the dog?” Lily asked, confused and a little horrified.

A growl and a vindicating large puddle later and the dog was pacing sedately ahead once more. 

Every few steps he stopped, wagged his tail and sat down. Waiting.

Whenever we got closer, he ran ahead.

“I want you to sell KitKats” I explained, “well, KitKats, Marshmallows, whatever other muggle delights you can get. “

Once she realized that I was not larking about, Lily made a full stop, “You’re mad!” she cried out, ”absolutely bonkers if you think you can sell muggle treats in a _wizarding_ school.”

“ _We,”_ I corrected her, “and why not? No law prohibiting us making a margin. Mind, you’ll have to find the right market for it; the muggle studies folks would be a good place to start.”

Seemingly mulling it over, I let Lily fiddle with her KitKat wrapper. The dog - bless his soul - tried to impersonate a rat; worming himself into a shallow, muddy hole.

“Is it alright?” Lily asked, frowning, “my aunt’s puggle got worms once. He kept bumping his head against the furniture until she took him to the vet.” 

Eager to impress, the dog stopped his mud- shenanigans and went hunting for a stick.

It came back with a wand.

“Who is the poor chap you stole _that_ from?” I tusked disapprovingly, albeit, amusedly; I had a morbid feeling that an angry mob of Slytherins would be chasing us down the streets any second now.

“Oh my, I hope that’s not a student’s – maybe it's his owner? You think he belongs to someone?”

Eyes glinting, the dog shook his tail again, waiting.

It was the rain, and Lily easy mannerism and the whole dog-shape business. It intoxicated me, so I spoke like a drunken.

“Of course he does,” I answered laughing, “you said yourself what a good boy he is!”

Happy, the dog clasped the wand and skipped off. This time he did not wait.

Our own wandering took us closer and closer to the castle, while Lily told me more about her family. Her aunt had a farm, where she lived with her college roommate for more than ten years. She also had a sister, but she did not elaborate on that. I have no siblings, so I told her about living with the marauders instead. How, after running low on Pixie wings in first year, Peter tried to yank my tooth out, _because he thought he could capture the tooth fairy._ How James was convinced football was a ball made out of a foot. A mistake that led to two missing bludgers, a sticking charm and a disastrous morning for the Slytherin quidditch team.

I even told her about that one time Padfoot set my cargo on fire, because he refused to sleep next to subpar products (though in all fairness, it had nothing to do with it being muggle made, and everything to do with inferior leather).

“You really think yo- _we_ can sell muggle snacks, don’t you? In Hogwarts?’ She asked, skeptically, after listening to my stories. 

I waved distractedly, “Make it sound lurid and exclusive, and people will pay just about anything to have it.”

“That’s awfully cynical of you,” She deadpanned. 

After a pause, thoughtfully, “exclusive you said?”

“Throw in the word contraband and the purebloods would be lining up.”

Another pause, cheerily, “yes, yes they will, wouldn’t they?”

A very long pause, during which both mine and Lily’s proverbial wheels turned, clicking into place with a marginal difference of 4 seconds and 444 milliseconds.

“Ri-ght, well, lovely chat, great idea, we must do this again sometime, yeah? Got to go, have some things to work out. I’ll, er, owl you. Ciao.”

She disappeared before I had half a mind to follow.

***

James and Peter were not back, or else, they went out again before I entered the dorm. A trail of muddy wet clothes led to the freshly showered boy, towel drying his hair. He wore Peter’s joggers, James’ “I heart Sirius Black” shirt and my slippers.

For all of our sakes, I dearly hoped he was wearing his own pants.

“Whose wand was it?” I asked, sliding into my beloved four-poster. I made a mental note of incorporating the House-elves heating charms into whatever essay I write up next. Someone had to.

Sirius smiled like a mad man. “Mine. You think I want some other bloke’s wand in my mouth?”

It took me a while to come back from that one. 

“You’re getting muck all over your bed, by the way.”

“And whose fault is that?” I bit back dryly, muttering a disrobing charm, nonetheless.

Down to my pants, I summoned random articles from my trunk. By the time I was in my nightclothes, Sirius was gingerly sitting on the end of my bed, waiting with wide grey eyes and a lolling smile.

It reminded me that I never did found out what he was up to in Hogsmeade.

“I was stalking Pudifoot’s tea shop.” He answered easily, “Circled it a few times. Covered every entrance till that retched Fletcher bloke shooed me off.”

“And Peter and James? Don’t tell me they’re off gallivanting the streets as a stag with a rat on its head?” It was a snowball chance, but in James’s arsenal, every snowball counted.

Fortunately, though, I quickly learned that while Sirius was outside the shop, the boys were inside, drinking tea at a table for two, attempting to overhear important conversations from the front desk. 

“I always rooted for those crazy kids to get together.”

Sirius smirked appreciatively from the middle of the bed.

“What about you? You and Evans make quite the pair.”

I shrugged, “She is not bad.” 

He fiddled with a pillowcase.

“So you had fun?”

Leaning against the headboard.

“Was it better than your last trip?”

Shameless. Sirius was _shameless_.

He also had a beauty mark underneath his left eye.

Mind, the two were not related, though, the notification of both proved to be equally alarming.

He leaned in.

I backed away.

A red, angry flash preceded a round of hitched laughter, an incoherent mumble, and rushed footsteps. In the quiet of the empty dorm, it occurred to me that there might have been an eighth sign after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet, but I could NOT bring myself to cut it!
> 
> Made it all the way through AND liked what you read? Kudos and comments are always much obliged :) 
> 
> Ta!


	13. Holding Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easily the HARDEST chapter to put forth so far! BUT as the headline implies, it is also the first toe-dip into Fluff waters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Chapter 12: Holding Hands.**  
(The sharing of plump and cheese cakes. A smelly learning aid. The inside of Sirius Black’s mind. )

The first time a fight broke among the marauders was about six days, ten hours and twenty-two minutes into our shared living experience. Give or take. 

We had a bit of a book situation, in that we had too many.

We had our school books, my favorite readings, the latest Quidditch issues, my favorite Sunday readings, potions books pickpocketed from the Potters’ library, dark arts books given willingly from the Blacks’ library, a series of alarming books relating pump-lines, my wish-list readings, The Honeydukes Chronicles, An I-will-probably-never-read-it-but-I-brought-it-with-me-just-to-be-safe readings, and one particular book that no one took credit for - but was in fact the most worn out copy – “ Igor Lewinsky: the wizard behind twenty-eight interior designs.” 

I’ve long learned that two of those titles belonged to Peter, though for some reason, I still took the chief of the blame when Sirius stumped his toe.

A glorified git led to a tosser, which escalated pretty quickly into the less dignified wanker and suddenly books were flying _everywhere._

Sirius refused to talk to me for a whole week.

This marked the first out of two major fights Sirius and I ever had.

The second fight remained an unspoken, fearful time period, that many students preferred not to reminisce.

When Sirius closed shut the door after storming out, I prepared myself for our third big fight.

If history was any indication, it would include no jokes, no talking, no eye contact, a copious amount of abrupt tantrums (allegedly unrelated to my person, but which revolved around causing irrevocable damage to my belongings nonetheless), no planning or pranking of any kind and an immediate ban from headquarters for the foreseeable future.

I am quite fond of my belongings, and there is something about ~~Sirius’s bed~~ headquarters that does not bear the thought of exile (it has just the right ratio between crispy clean, to six-years’ worth of living in it). So, you see, I acted out of a primal sense of self-preservation when I darted out of bed and headed for the door.

  
***

I did not have to venture very far to find my friend.

As soon as I opened the door, I came face to face with a pale, stuttering Sirius being led involuntarily back inside by James.

“Gents, it appears we have some issues to discuss!” Peter declared, not quite pulling his weight in, Sirius-wise.

“W-we do?”

“Yes we- bloody Bogarts did you just _bit me?”_ James cried, nursing his injured thumb, “wass dh’mader wid ju!?” 

Sirius, once again a free man, sniffed audibly. “Nothin’ just fancied myself a walk is all.” 

“Your bathroom break can wait,” James admonished, flopping down on Sirius’ mattress, quickly accompanied by Peter and eventually by Sirius himself.

I was the last boy standing.

“You’re waiting for a personalized owl or somthin’?” Peter asked bemusedly while James threw his hands in the air; his right thumb ostensibly bigger than the left -“ I am not letting Moony bite me!”

“That’s Werewolves discrimination.” Sirius noted jokingly, relaxing somewhat now that he was in his own bed. 

Strange…

I took a tentative step forward.

No flying books so far.

Another step.

My bed was not set on fire. 

I sat, slowly, palms first on Sirius’s bed.

Our friends blinked - “alright there Moony?”

I caught Sirius’ eye. He nodded. I breathed. 

“Never better.”

Funny; I didn’t mean for my voice to get all throaty.

Thankfully, my pubescent moment went unheeded by my friends - James’s self-important cough demanded our undivided attention.

“We return to you from Puddifoot.” He exclaimed, and so I rearranged myself into a cross legged sitting position, gearing up for a promising story.

Then it hit me.

Sirius _leaned in._

Did he try to _snog_ me?

Okay, scratch that. Of course he tried to snog me. There was no lash in my eye. There is never a lash.

 _“-this_ couple in the far left table kept giving us the stink eye –“

The real question was _why._

“Aye that was a right stinkin’ eye they gave us! You’d think two blokes can’t enjoy a plum cake together -”

“- right you are Wormtail, right you are!”

He tried to snog me, does that mean he’s interested in me? I snogged Amelia Bones once, on a dare.

To this day the most profound thing I can tell about her is that she takes Herbology.

“- A Slytherin strolled in alone. My money says he couldn’t find a proper date -“

“ - a nasty lookin’ bloke –“

“- dodgy bugger, kept his face hidden –“

Sirius was sitting leisurely against his pillow, leaning an arm over a bunched knee. He bit into a fingernail.

Sirius does not bite his fingernails.

Maybe he’s drunk? The Prewett Thing almost happened when he was drunk.

“– left quickly after that, so we kept watching – “

Then there was my list. The seven to eight signs list.

It all came back to that list, didn’t it? 

  
***

In the end, James and Peter came back with some surprising revelations; they discovered that Branda Bruke from Slytherin was drinking tea with Leon Redburn (who, upon an evil twist of fate, was the proud owner of the Slytherin’s Quidditch Captain pin). Redburn himself much preferred to ogle Mary Macdonald while eating an apricot cheese-cake. They also availed that Fletcher took the trash out on an hourly basis, and that whenever he took it, he had a Vanishsmoke pipe stashed behind one ear.

It was not there when he returned.

They even managed to extricate the Madam’s Lemon Rose Squares recipe.

What they did not find out, though, was the identity of the O.G.P.T.S.P shipment’s recipient.

It was promptly decided that they had either never came in at all or else managed to slip under my friends’ radar. Undoubtedly, by utilizing a form of rare and powerful dark magic. 

It was only sometime after Peter’s third yawn that I realized I had yet to tell them about Lily’s slip.

In the background, James launched his fifth retelling of the stakeout; the more he told it, the greasier the mysterious Slytherin became and the tastier the apricot cheese-cake sounded. 

An elbow was rearranged here, a leg spread there and by the time James recanted how The Madam shooed them off, we were all substantially more horizontal than how we set out to be.

When Sirius affirmed that he, too, came up empty handed, James gave out a low contented sigh, followed by slurs of “next time” and “for sure”. 

Resolved that the Lily conversation could wait another day, I let my friends murmurs guide them into sleep.

Instead of waking them up, I craned my head over the two logs between Sirius and myself.

Through a series of silent mouthing and pointed neck gestures, I was able to deliver my message.

We needed to talk.

  
***

We strayed into the common room.

Immediately, Sirius began to stride around the empty space; rearranging an abandoned chess game so that black won, fluffing the pillows on the sofa, re-enchanting the fire, patting stones walls.

Mind, that last one was a bit of a doozy.

“You must not tell anyone.” He mumbled and it took him pulling a bottle of firewhisky out of a brick for me to realize he wasn’t referring to his previous...advances.

He tilted the _mostly_ full bottle in front of his face, scrutinizing the content. Apparently appeased, he took a wavered swig before recorking it.

“Foul drink if you ask me,” he said, twisting his mouth. “More of a Sherry bloke myself, but I’m having a bit of a thirst, you see.”

The ignorant twit reclined languidly against the wall. Admittedly, my head _was_ bursting with balance-knocking questions, but Sirius’s opinions on high-end liquor did not quite make the cut. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you like some?” the boy gallantry offered, misconstruing my silence for offence. “No? suits yourself. Mind, you’re probably better off, tastes like – “

“- you tried to snog me.” I blurted, because, well, he did.

Sirius had the audacity to pout; a retaliation against the rudeness of cutting his words, no doubt. “I suppose I _should_ apologize,“ he allowed graciously, stashing his bottle before renewing the strutting. 

“I _am_ sorry, you know.” He remarked, giving me a quick once over every few royal steps, as if making sure I was still there.

Right behind him.

If it wasn’t for the defiantly raised chin, I would have been floored by this exhibition of fervent candor.

“I never meant to run off on you.”

“ _That_ is what you’re sorry about?” I asked, scandalized.

Sirius stopped long enough to nod, albeit sheepishly, “it was very unGryffindorish of me.” 

_Now_ I was floored.

“You tried to _snog_ me.“ I reminded him, taking more time to enunciate my words than I did at my first spelling bee competition (I was nearly five years old. The winning word was Azkaban. It awarded me five fresh crumpets, and a hug).

To my great indignation, Sirius snorted.

“That is what’s bothering you?” he asked, “do not worry about _that_ , I am not mad-“

“ _Mad?”_

“Would you kindly stop interrupting me?” he huffed, “and no more fretting too, I’ll take responsibility Moony, I should have had more consideration.”

“You should have had?” “I asked, unconvinced.

After all, Sirius Black was a verbal landmine; just when you thought you reached solid ground, something went boom.

Most likely, your brain.

“Of course, I am not a brute, Moony. I have _some_ basic notions about improper conduct. I can own up to my mistakes.”

“You can?”

“Don’t be rude, _obviously_ I read the situation wrong.”

“There is that, yes.” I agreed, navigating my way. Trying not to slip. 

Sirius, on the other hand, plunged right in; his words emphasized by the manner with which he racked his hair. “I hate the thought that I might’ve _forced_ myself on you. That’s despicable. Truly.”

Tentatively, the boy came forward until his hands were ghosting my shoulders. “I never meant to upset you. Forgive me?”

Taken aback by the reassuring seeking gesture, I relented at last and accepted his apology. Momentarily ~~ignoring~~ forgetting the fact that it was not so much a question of _should_ have Sirius tried to snog me, as it was of _why_ he wanted to in the first place.

“I guess I can accept that.”

“Good.” Sirius said, clasping my shoulders before heading for the spiral staircase.

“Don’t worry, Moons, next time I’ll give you a proper heads - up.”

BOOM.

***

Sunday provided me with some much needed clarity with regards to the happenings inside Sirius’s mind.

As usual, it was terrifying.

I hadn’t had the privilege of speaking with him alone ever since last night, despite spending the majority of our time together.

Needless to say, my mind was riling with possibilitie- QUERIES.

For starters, Sirius verified that A. he did in fact tried to snog me. and B. he thought it perfectly reasonable to try it _again_.

This unhelpful warrant made my palms so sweaty I considered sneaking a peek at the relationship timetable he created; I wouldn’t put it past Padfoot to pin down the exact time for “private snogging attacks”.

Alas, too petrified by the thought of getting caught with such an implicating document, I decided to distract myself instead. 

Thus, Sunday morning found me doing my Daily Prophet’s Tapword puzzle (which was virtually the same as a muggle crossword puzzle, only you had to use your wand instead of a pen, and the answers were all spells), when a large, perfectly manicured hand covered my own.

I froze. Sirius sipped his morning tea. James and Peter each lobbied in excruciating details why Dungbumbs were a practical magical learning aid in a set of Christmas’ gifts requests cards (which I can only hope, were meant for their parents). 

All the while, five white bumps stretched under ivory-pinkish skin.

Over my hand.

Where Sirius’ palm rested.

Unmoving.

Not even when I stilled my wand mid-spell. Nor when elbows began to punch ribs, and necks elongated for a better view. Not still, as Professor Mcgonagle passed the rudimentary, last minute form for students who wished to stay over for Christmas break .

Despite being one of said students.

“Professor, can _I_ put my name down?”

The bored drawl caused three things to happen at once; our professor’s lips tightened, James’s face fell dramatically, and I chocked on my eggs.

The hand remained the same.

“Mister Black? I was under the impression that you are staying with the Potters for the holidays,” Mcgonagle intoned icily, “in fact, I seem to recall an incident involving _two hundred_ howlers that stated as such.”

Sirius gulped.

“Last month.”

“Er, you see-“

“-All over the castle-“

“Proffe-“

“At _midnight_.” 

"But I _have_ to stay over, professor,” Sirius all but whined, “Mo- _Remus_ is staying over.”

Unimpressed, our teacher raised both eyebrows, “I am well aware of Mister Lupin arrangements. _He_ signed up in advance.” She tusked, “and did not found it necessary to disrupt the entire school in the process, I may add.” 

Was it just me, or did my prefect pin shone a little bit brighter? 

“But I _can’t_ leave him alone,” Sirius pressed on, “He’s my _boyfriend._ ” 

“Um, Padfoot?“

On a whimper, “and I _would_ have signed up a month ago, but, I mean, who would have thought he’d say _yes?”_

With wide eyes, “you are not going to make me leave him _all alone_ , are you Professor?”

Clenching my hand tighter, “ _Please_?” 

It had to be a family hex. Perhaps a nonverbal Imperius. A potent pre-administrated mind-boggling potion. Nothing else could have made the Professor’s severe glare frost into a yielding, _almost-_ smile.

Sirius Black was officially celebrating his holidays on school’s grounds.

With me.

Just the two of us.

Probably, holding hands.

As if reading my mind, Sirius tagged my wrist. Finished with his breakfast, he was now ready for more adventurous activities.

And he did them _all_ holding my hand.

Ribbing Wormtail during a lazy stroll? Holding my hand.

Jinxing the mistletoes in the library? Holding my hand.

A rainy afternoon Quidditch match against Prongs? Holding my hand (aka, the scariest hour I had ever spent on a broom). 

Crawling in front of the common room fireplace? Holding my hand.

It had dawned on me, as I sipped my liquor induced coca (after a trip to the kitchens, with Padfoot, holding my hand) that I was now on hand-holding basis with Messer Sirius Padfoot Black. 

And the thing about Sirius Padfoot Black was that he had a right nice hand.

It was at room temperature. Big. Comfy really. Almost like an old, beloved glove; smooth here, overworn there. 

I was contemplating a particularly protruding bluish line, when it finally shifted.

At first, I thought maybe Sirius had had enough. Then, I wondered if it was a spasm. A byproduct of overworking his muscles in this novel exercise.

It turned out, Sirius merely pushed our hands over my thigh, so he could lean into my side; he seemed to engage in a self-balancing challenge, pressing his entire midsection into my elbow. Discreetly casting an inferno to every-nerve ending from my hip to my shoulder. 

His lips just barely missed my ear lobe.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, and because I suddenly had a _thigh_ stretched over my person, I answered sincerely.

”Mrfphf”.

“Can you keep a secret, _Moony_?” he asked giddily, looking around before returning to his original post “I wasn’t going to try holding hands until our next date, _at least._ But I figured, just to check, after last night…” 

“W-well, _Padfoot¸_ I do believe I can keep that one to myself. _Prongs_ will be horrified, mind. _Wormtail_ , heartbroken. You know how he detests secrets keeping.” I deadpanned, albeit, with a proficient dazed interval - our _next_ date? And what was that about last night? How can almost snogging me when we are alone, compare to holding my hand in the common room?

“Of course,” the smug prick allowed, hummed, and began to twirl his thumb over the back of my hand; watching the minute circle with growing fascination. “ It came in handy though, didn’t it? ‘Gonagle ate it up… Nice catch, not freaking out about the _boyfriend_ bit, by the way. Prongs nearly pissed his pants, no doubt – “

And why was he still talking about _breakfast?_ If you ask me, our current sitting situation was much more pressing.

Literally.

“ - And did you _see_ his face when we ducked under that Bludger? Priceless. Best. Broom. Ride. Ever. Wasn’t it? Be careful though, I reckon Prongs might try and draft you for the team –“ 

Maybe he had a bet going on with James to see how long he can hold my hand under pretense of The Plan, and this was his latest attempt to spook me out of his arms.

I considered it as Sirius proceeded to summon a fresh roll of parchment to work on our Christmas itinerary, stopping here and there to run an idea by me (I was willing to accompany him in the search of Slughorn’s cellar, but drew the line at letting him curse the faucets in the prefects’ bathroom). I was in the middle of trying to gauge out why, exactly, one would even _want_ to visit Flitch’s private chambers when Sirius got a disconcerting twinkle in his eyes. A pinkish tip glazed his lips and for a moment I was sure he was going to snog me. The promised warning be damned.

Instead, he simply grazed his lips over my knuckles in a fleeting, awkward kiss.

Wait, no, that was still _weird_.

Ditching the questionable schedule, my friend committed his full attention on my hand with vigor. Between chaste kisses and soothing fingers, it occurred to me that this might be another boundary Sirius wanted to try out. Just to check.

This turned out to be a room-spinning revelation because Sirius checking habits could also be construed as being gentle and taking things slowly.

Which, inevitably, insinuated there were _things_ between us to begin with.

Suddenly, all the evidences started to align; brooding over our date plans and making crazy lists well into the night, trying to snog me, better yet, failing to snog me _and apologizing_ for his manners. Not to mention, he was thrilled that I did not get upset when he called me his boyfriend, despite it being a rather brilliant move.

And through it all, how many times did Sirius mention the rules of proper dating conduct? Sirius Black does not do this or Sirius Black has to do that. We had a bloody _timetable_. 

Sirius Black was attempting to be a perfect gentleman. In _and_ out of the spectators’ eyes.

Which might have made sense if we were _actually_ dating.

“D’you use a heating charm on your hands? ‘s amazing.” He cooed, finishing the onslaught on my hand in order to examine it better. “Might want to work on the side effects, though,” he added, a tiny wrinkle ruining the otherwise taught skin of his forehead, “ ‘s sweaty.”

With very little awareness of our audience, Sirius wriggled forward, stopped, and gave me a snitch-speed peck on the cheek.

“I had a roaring good time, Moony. Thanks.” And with that adieu, Sirius _finally_ let go of my hand, climbed out of my lap, and skittered off to the dorm.

It was short, sweet and courteous.

Bloody Grindylows, _was_ I dating Sirius Black?!

PUFF.

My epiphany was interrupted by the soft noise. Identical, carefully cut out cards popped into existence, filling all the nooks and crannies of the room. One of which, landed in my recently vacant hand.

“ _The Marauders’ Complete List of Christmas favorites; how to impress your chosen prankster.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I struggle with this one? OH YEAH. Gauging out if I want to write a big argument or not was a toughy. 
> 
> On a more positive note...A Christmas chapter is coming up! How will the boys get along all by their lonesome hmm? Will Remus get an answer to his question? Will James get his Dungbumbs? Stay tuned.


	14. What to do when you’re in love with your gay best friend!

**Chapter 13 – What to do when you’re in love with your gay best friend!**

(The presents heist. An acronym. Forgotten conversations)

With the holidays looming, I decided to postpone the further questioning of Sirius Black until after our friends’ departure. So, while Prongs was wrestling with unpacked robes and Wormtail contemplated how much of his homework could be left behind in order to maximize his gifts-appointed luggage space, _I_ got to be on the receiving end of Padfoot’ furtive glances. 

He was watching the proceeding from headquarters. A king among peasants, whirling his wand in the air like a Stinging-Hex emitting baton. 

I am pretty sure he was the one making Prongs’ robes fight back.

“You’ll keep searching for O.G.P.T.S.P leads while we’re away?” James prompted eagerly, minutes before getting whisked away for his winter holidays.

We were all walking around the castle, exchanging last minutes words of plotting.

“Make sure you break some rules while we’re away,” Wormtail encouraged wistfully. 

“But save some for us, too! Don’t blow up the castle without us!”

“Yeah, and don’t go humpin’ each other all over the school!”

“Yeah, no shagging on my bed!”

I gave my friends a hearty, two finger salute that turned into a reluctant wave as they levitated their trunks out of sight. Sirius was trailing after them for a while, with promises of mischief mingled with barks of laughter before he came back with his fists stuck in his pockets.

His face was sprinkled with odd splotches of red, the result of harsh wind and loud shouts. 

“So what now?” I asked, disrupting the quiet that was forming in our friends’ wake. Sirius’ arm was already seeking my shoulder, crushing me into a loose hug. In that moment, he was Sirius Black, the boy who kept me up on new moon’s nights to plan how we can magic all the chalk in the castle charcoal. 

“Now we blow up the castle, Moony.”

***

We did not blow up the castle.

My back was too sore for such shenanigans. Instead, Sirius hauled us to the kitchens, making futile yummy noises at every dish the house elves had to offer.

“You know I can’t eat anything before The Big Night,” I muttered, climbing into my bed while Sirius nibbled on a pumpkin pasty.

He sat in his own four-poster, contemplating the matter further -“we’ll be missing the feast, too…”

“ _We_?”

“A common pronoun. Means you and me.” he mocked, pointing his finger at each of us in turn. Its tip, a deep orange hue.

“Nothin’ stops us from doing our own feast though. Once your appetite is back to its atrocious self? I _love_ Christmas’ food. “ 

“Urm, sure, Padfoot. We can do that.”

I was tired, and Sirius’ voice had the same fiery tinge it got whenever he was truly proud with himself, like after acing a test he did not cram for or getting away with a prank right under Mrs. Norris’ whiskers, so I did not mention my misgivings about our “relationship” that day either. 

***

“Psst, Moony, Psst, wake up mate. “

Oh my bloody lord in heavens.

“Psst, wake up you lazy knob!”

It had to be a dream. A nightmare. A horrid side effect of my wolfish transformation.

I woke up, despite myself, with a sharp angular object pushing against my skull.

What the hell did I do to myself last night?

“Psst, over here Moony!“

“You reckon he’s still out of it?”

“Might be, he’s not the sharpest quill in the mornin’ ain’t ‘e?”

Cursing the empty hospital wing, I finally managed to retrieve the triangle mirror that was hidden under my pillow. I glared, accusingly, at the pumpkin size grins that mirrored back at me from the glassy surface. 

James and Peter were laying on their stomachs, spread out on a Persian rug. A not so small bundle of unwrapped presents accumulated behind their feet. They were celebrating the holidays at the Potters’ estate.

“Happy Christmas Moony!” Wormtail greeted, followed quickly by a frowning, more urgent, “where’s Padfoot?” by Prongs.

Sometimes, I wonder if we did not pick the wrong marauders for the execution of The Plan…

***

Hair fell into my eyes as I peeked under the bed.

No Padfoot.

More importantly, though, there were no _presents_.

Mind, I am not exactly a newbie when it comes to spending monumental, gift-giving-worthy-days at the hospital wing. I consider myself an expert of sorts. Why, I believe Pomfrey grunted something about a school record just last night.

An odd achievement to be proud of, to be sure, and yet it filled me with certainty that a respectable pile of wrapped boxes should have been waiting in my general vicinity.

There was no pile.

“Someone stole my presents!” I declared with a put-upon sigh.

I risked another glance under the bed.

“Padfoot ‘s not here either.”

***

_Pomfrey,_

_Thanks for healing my bones. I am all better now. Merry Christmas!_

_-R.J.L._

Prongs said leaving the ribboned Dungbomb was redundant. Wormtail thought I should have made a run for it.

My prefect pin stopped wobbling, and I felt better than ever. 

***

The first thing I noticed about our tree was its magnificent measurements. The branches climbed all the way to the top of our room, shedding twigs all over the bundle of unwrapped presents. _My_ unwrapped presents.

And Padfoot’s, of course.

This green monstrosity was decorated with Hogwarts’ infamous Christmas’ crackers, some of which were clearly opened before my arrival.

A row of squeaky, suspiciously familiar white mice was trailing a low hanging pine-twig.

Right above Sirius’ head.

The boy was not perturbed. He was deep in slumber. Hugging a large pillow and completely unaware of the creatures reaching the very end of their poorly balanced road. 

I had two choices. The first and the more dignified of the two dictated that I should wake my friend up, peacefully and rodent-lessly

I chose the second route.

***

“What’s with the giant tree?” Prongs, who took full control over his shard of the mirror, eclipsed anything else in view with his bespectacled eye. It squinted at us from its seat of honor; a lumpy balled up present, leaning against the massive trunk.

“Nicked it. From the great hall,” Padfoot, who had little paw marks mapping his face, replied. He was unwrapping a black infinity scarf (complete with tiny hearts dancing in a circle around the initials S.B).

Wormtail faceless grunt reported his next gift was a bag of salt-water toffee, attached to a No Glove, No Love pamphlet.

All the while, I gathered my own loot into a small hill; my mom baked-goods were in the center, together with Prongs’ book (“What to do when you’re in love with your gay best friend!”). There was also a box of Bertie Bott Every Flavor Beans, two packets of Chocolate Frogs and what appeared to be a Muggle entrapment device that could either house a very small rabbit or a very large gerbil.

I exchanged Peter’ pink, feathered boa with Sirius’ scarf, so we were both sufficiently cozy when I unwrapped my next gift - two packs of Cheetos and a sealed Zonko’s bag that contained Sugar Quills and a few Earsteaming sweets.

The parcel came with a short letter.

_Dear Remus,_

_I hope you are having a lovely Holiday!_

_I took the chance of buying you a little something during our last trip to Hogsmeade._

_About your proposition – I considered it, and if you really believe we can do it…I might know of a few students who’d be interested in purchasing some treats. With the right marketing, of course._

_P.S. My family and I are vacationing in America, I included some local flavours for you to try._

_Merry Christmas._

_L.Evans._

I let Sirius read the letter over my shoulder. Though, since he was not privy to a chief part of my conversation with Lily, and as our friends were even less informed, I hereto divulged into an overdue explanation.

During the story, Prongs accused me of flirting with Lily three times, Wormtail offered to be our first client five times and Padfoot cut in for dramatic embellishments six times. By the end, however, we all agreed that Lily’s exclusive clienteles could only refer to the O.G.P.T.S.P crowd.

It was an invigorating step forward, which, inevitably, spurred us to rehash discarded theories in an attempt to find something we might have previously missed. Prongs was convinced that the club assembled in the forbidden forest, deeper than the map could follow. Padfoot wanted to revisit the house-elves contribution, and Wormtail made the rather alarming proposition that the whole ordeal was a conspiracy, concocted by no other than McGonagall herself, who needed me to date Padfoot and distract him from his trade-mark havoc-wrecking (“Y’now, I could swear the old bat ran interference for me when I spelled that tree…”).

In the meantime, _I_ composed a response to Lily’s letter.

_Dear Lily,_

_Thank you for the gift! I ran the muggle snacks idea by my friends – they loved it. James, in particular, sends you his best wishes upon embarking on this path of counter-goods smugglings._

_I added a few of my mom’s homemade cookies, though, they are not as exciting as American’s snacks(sorry)._

_Happy holidays,_

_R.J.Lupin._

Since we had a strict no owls policy in the dormitory (as per Wormtail’s insistence), I had to take a trip to the Owlery in order to send Lily’s letter. Padfoot, whose latest theory dictated that the club had been founded by Dumbledore on his fourth year at Hogwarts, volunteered to accompany me. He was convinced that the best way to unfold new evidence was by marching the halls, asking himself “W.W.A.T.D.D.N?”

What would a teenage Dumbledore do next?

According to Sirius, Dumbledore was a fan of snowball fights and victorious dog shaped laps around greenhouse number three.

“The thing to understand about Dumbledore,” Sirius said, bumping his wand against the castle’ wall (confident that the door to the club was a random wand tap away), “is that he is a genius nutter. This ruddy club is probably located in the weirdest, most mundane place. Like, did we check Ugly Myrtle’s bathroom?”

“Humm, yes, nothing says exclusive, secret room like a dysfunctional _loo_.” I nodded somberly, shaking residual snowflakes from my shoulders. Sirius’ aim was spectacular. 

“Alright. Behind the promiscuous mermaid. In the prefects’ bathroom.”

“And the prefects are all chilling in the bubbles while the clubbers enter and exit their scared space, I am sure.”

Sirius tapped his index finger crossly, thinking hard - “maybe they are in on it, then.”

He was still wearing the pink boa, and snowflakes dripped from it as he marched off petulantly. Mind, it was his own fault for rolling around _in the snow_ ; he also had a rather impressive wet spot on his would-be tail era and the most ridiculous clumps of snow in his eyebrows.

It was a heart-warming sight. And that was not very fair of me, was it? Here I was, getting sufficiently heated-up while my friend was in immediate danger of developing multiple frostbites.

I agreed to investigate the prefects’ bathroom (despite a lack of personal conviction) under the condition that we’d take a break in front of the common room’ fire. Sirius rewarded me with a sultry, slow grin for my troubles. Though, whatever hidden meaning he read into my suggestion, he kept to himself.

We walked back into the tower, with Sirius clasping my hand.

Countering every romantic instinct I may have fostered, we did not fight off wet clothes as soon as we entered the common room. Sirius did not straddle me and we did not meet in a searing, breathtaking snog. However, there was a moment, between the blatant not snogging and the crumpling into a single seat, a long stretched out period of time, when it would have been completely reasonable for me to freeze and remind the both of us that Hey, we are _not_ actually dating, yeah? There was no need to share an armchair, what with _the entirety of the room available for our use._ We definitely did not have to cuddle.

The moment was over when Sirius head lowered into my shoulder and I could not for the life of me remember what I was about to say.

Oh well. It must not have been important.

***

My short, requested break turned into the whole of the afternoon. We immerged from the solitude of the tower in time for dinner, though, and returned to the dorms only to get James’ cloak (which he practically forced us to borrow in his absence).

I geared up for an evening of mischief, and while a tingling sense of excitement was a common side effect on such nights, it was not usually contingent with the sight of Padfoot wearing his bathrobe…

A grey rope was tied into a lazy knot marking the circumference of Sirius’ hips, leaving most of his chest and legs on display. At first, I trained my eyes to the covered portion of my friend’ body. Belatedly, I realized that it was not really serving the modest agenda I was trying to promote and decided that the furniture would make for a safer target.

I managed swimmingly until the invisibility cloak was thrown into the mix. We were constantly touching in some part of our bodies, and whenever one part disengaged my eyes zipped to a new spot of contact. It was as if my skin became addicted to Sirius’ and was suffering from withdrawal symptoms; forever seeking the next hit.

We stepped over each other’s feet painfully often. 

Regardless, we headed to the fifth floor, one awkward mangled step at a time, and were well on our way when we heard the low, gravel-like coo Filch used to converse with his cat (“No detentions on holidays…We’ll see… dangle ‘em from the ankles my darling….”)

I pushed Sirius into the nearest tapestry before remembering that we were _invisible_. Nonetheless, and not for the first time in the past weeks, Sirius leaned into the push almost languidly. Despite hearing a gut-wrenching pound, the boy _guffawed_ and mouthed an indecipherable, likely inappropriate adjective.

I wonder if he used a cushioning charm. In which case, I could have just as easily pushed him against his pillows and - - - I would _not_ push Sirius against a pillow. Obviously. No pillows. Pillows were a no-no zone from now on.

I liked pillows.

“Okay. I think he’s gone.”

“…Who is?”

“Filch. The reason behind your manly wall-pushing escapade.”

Oh. Right. _Him._

“You thought it was manly?”

Instead of immediately leaving our post, Sirius dragged his back against the wall, like a bear scraping a tree. He wrapped his hands around my neck in a half-hearted grip. Almost as feeble as his rope. 

“I could have done without the bicep scratching…but other than that…”

It could have simply been a jibe. A tease. A mean joke at my expense. 

A promise.

“Moony?”

“Humm?”

“The club.”

We righted ourselves under the cloak in an agonizing pace, suddenly reluctant to keep up with our search. Filch was gone, though, and we had no excuse to withhold our mission anymore.

“Lucky we know where all the blind spots are.” Sirius whistled as we left the tapestry behind.

I whirled so fast my ankle and elbow floated in mid-air. It was so patently _obvious -_ how did I not think about it before?

A large congregation of students managing to go undetected. Large shipments from Hogsmeade being carried into the castle, with no one the wiser. And what was it that James said just a few hours ago? The club must be located “deeper than the map could follow.”

I pulled out the marauder map, praying that the cloak’s magic would keep my hasty Lumos out of sight. I thrust the parchment into Sirius’ hands and with no further explanation began to trace the hallways with my wand.

When I looked up, a shit-eating grin in place, Sirius looked slightly concerned. I recognized the sentiment immediately, as I often shared it with Wormtail whenever our roommates passed notes using invisible ink.

“The _passageways_.” I explained impatiently, increasing my measured insanity, no doubt, by licking my lips - ”they are using the secret passageways!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the farther explanation of Remus fast-tracked mind :)


	15. Down the rabbit hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather like the SIZE of this chapter...

**Chapter 14 – Down the rabbit hole.**

(Puzzles, bathtub plotting, a speakeasy)

There is an art to solving puzzles. You get a rush of satisfaction when you arrive at an answer, your ego dictates to share your ingenuity with the world, and yet a pesky little voice whispers at your ear, “are you _sure?_ ”. 

My ego dictated:

“The passageways - they are using the secret passageways!”

The little voice (embodied by Sirius’ face) argued:

“ER,” 

“The club,” I hissed, tapping my wand into the map with a puncturing force. “Look, say you have the map, and you see Wormtail sneaking to the whomping willow in the middle of the night-“

“-What’s he doing, going to the willow in the middle of the night?” Sirius asked. He looked over my shoulder, trying to follow an invisible rat with his fingers spread between my shoulder blades. 

I don’t think he noticed it was there. 

“Never mind that. Now, say he sneaked _past_ the Willow. His dot would disappear, _right_?” 

Sirius’ answer comes in a series of fiery releases of air.

He smothers a hiccup, and forces exhales out of his nostrils, so his words are colored in a chocked tinge. 

“Right.” 

I don’t think he understood any of it. 

I don’t think he listened. 

I think he has a dreamy smile on his face, but I can’t bring myself to look around and check. 

There is a little voice, and it asks me - “are you _sure?”_

So, I force the issue. 

Partly, because it _is_ important and he _should_ be listening.

Partly, because my rebellious ego is trying to burst into an uncoordinated victory dance, and I am inclined to let it. 

But, no. I am not sure. 

I ask, “so you agree it is possible?”

He replies, ”sure, yes, absolutely, Moony.“ 

“And that is why we couldn’t see them?”

“Who?”

“The clubbers!” I sigh, because being exasperated is something I can wrap my head around, whereas driving pleasure from being a mad-plan-worthy-distraction for my friend is…Weird? Unwarranted? Slightly sadistic? 

New? 

There is an art to solving puzzles. A creative logical process, and if you are a gifted artist, and you reach your desired end, there is an unavoidable moment that precedes the most vigor ego and most loathsome self-doubt. 

The proverbial Aha moment. 

When I do turn around, I see the residual of a smile disappear into a soft “o.” Sirius takes hold of the map with both his hands and frantically jumps between seven points of location. He licks his lips. A lightning-ball movement that causes my muscles to clench.

“The passageways. By Godric, they _are_ using them! Moony?” 

A feeble sound burns its way up my throat. 

“Aha.” 

***

“We should tell Prongs right away, of course,” Sirius informed me the moment we entered the room, “after we checked all the spots for ourselves. I reckon one more wrong lead might do him in, don’t you?” 

“Sure, I guess,” I said, though, between my eureka moment and the suds that caught on Sirius’ hair, there was very little capacity for Prongs’ insanity as well. 

“Um Padfoot?” 

“Yes Moony dearest? “

“Why are you in the tub?” 

Sirius dived in and out of the water in the prefects’ bathroom. His bathrobe was abandoned not long after the merciless onslaught on the taps. 

“When we were in third year, a prefect told me that if you open enough faucets, you can get it to smell like roast beef.” 

The confession was backed by a childish giggle. Up on the stone wall, the bathroom’s mermaid flattered her eyelashes and flapped her tail in a most exaggerated manner.

I can’t blame her. The prefecture hardly used symmetrical features as a required attribute.

Looking at my friend, it’s easy to understand how a portrait might get bored in our school. 

“I hate to burst your bubble, but it sounds like he was hitting on you.” I snort, discarding both boots and socks. “Why would you want to smell like meat, anyway?” 

Sirius splutters, and there are cherry scented globes coming out of his nose,” I love roast beef. It’s delicious.” 

As if in an attempt to distance himself from my treachery, he dived back in and emerged from the far end of the bath. There, he indulged in a slow stroke that turned into a float, a course that took him through white peaks of foam and clear water alike. 

There was truly nothing modest about my friend.

If anything, Sirius resolution to distance himself from me wavered. 

He squints at me, and when he smirks, it is filled with forewarning. 

“Why aren’t you coming in?” 

“I _am_ in.” I argue, spreading my toes underneath the bath water in demonstration. 

Despite the prophetic humming, I take the bait. 

“Why are _you_ swimming? “ I ask, “ shouldn’t we be… I don’t know, storming passageways or something?”

He shifts his hands, and a ripple follows. 

“We are plotting,” he sneers, “there’s no better place for it than a giant bath. “ 

So far, there seem to be more swimming than plotting, but the water are warm and relaxing, so I decide I don’t have to understand Sirius’ logic after all. I wave my wand at the fourth faucet to my right and a foggy stream rushes out, filling the room with a strong rosemary scent.

When Sirius swims towards me, his face shines brighter than the bubbles. 

He cradles between my ankles and rests his elbows on my thighs. His silence is charged with giddiness. 

I wave my wand again and breath in the buttery smell.

“It does smells like roast beef!” He laughs, poking my side with his finger until the rest of his hand follows suit. It settles on my waist, ominously unassuming. 

“I am not opening the Thyme tap. “I warned him, though, I already knew it wasn’t why he came over. 

He whines my name and arches his back in a blatant attempt of distraction. I let out a sigh, hold my breath, and try to remember the best charm to remove water from one’s ears. 

Then, my head is pushed underneath the water. 

We did not do much plotting after that. 

***

There is an old wife tale that warns against swimming and eating. It must be true for running as well, because my thoughts are making me dizzy. 

Some were related; I wondered how long it would take us to find the club and then, what would happen when we finally do. Prongs thought everyone would believe me if I said we composed an elaborate plan that included leather pants, and a desperate yearning for Padfoot proximity.

We didn’t discuss what would happen if I don’t. 

The majority of my thoughts, though, were seemingly random; back in our room, one of the tree branches poked a hole into my curtains, and I found myself occupied with the possibility of Sirius’ bed, cleared from unwanted pine twigs. If I were to go over there, would I be skipping one of his many, forethought steps? Would he kick me out? 

Maybe he _wanted_ me to go over there. 

“It has to be big enough.” 

My hands fidget in my lap, “’s not bad,” I blurted dubiously, “about moderate.”

Sirius shook his head, ”has to be _big_. Fitting for five, ten people, I’d wager.” 

“T-ten?”

“You think more?” Sirius crawled out of his bed in an agonizingly slow speed. He was wrapped in his comforter, his sole protection against the cold. 

Reading from the Plan-Sheet, he crouched over Prongs’ bed, “personally, I reckon ten students is a stretch, even _with_ the experimenters and plus-ones.” 

He was so immersed in his own musings, I felt contrived to give myself a mental flagellation.

He moved closer, putting one leg up the mattress and a few unguarded spots of skin escaped the blanket. 

There had to be something fundamentally crooked about me, because catching glimpses of Sirius skin felt _wrong,_ whereas ogling him glide across the water seemed perfectly safe… 

***

We had to capitalize the unrestricted time our vacation provided. We had no lessons, and with little students around could study the castle to our hearts' content. We set out to have an early rise, exhilarated by the possibility of our free reign. 

We won’t need to use Prong’s cloak, whisper, or step on each other toes. 

Naturally, we woke up at mid-day. 

The Whomping Willow was the first passageway to be eliminated.

No way students hoarded in the shrieking shack to sip martinis every other weekend without our notice.

“Say what you will,” Sirius countered unhelpfully, “it has a certain rustic charm.” 

“Oh, it’s lovely. I know scratched out wallpaper and dingy rooms always gets _me_ going.” 

“Everything gets _you_ going.”

Luckily, I was excused from making up a rebuttal. We were peering down the one-eyed witch passage. A short slide that would eventually lead to the Honeydukes tunnel. 

A promising route for the rouge butterbeer smuggler, but I did not like it for a secret club. 

“That’s another one down.” I sighed, forcibly ignoring Sirius’ knowing smirk. 

“How about Gregory the Smarmy?” 

“Can’t fit more than two at a time.”

“The French girl painting?” 

“Filch knows about it, we can thank Wormtail for that one. Led Mrs Norris right to it.” He chuckled, unfolding the map to evaluate our next stop. 

Two lines cross his forehead. 

”Did we check the Courter’s passageway yet?” 

***

None of us liked the fourth floor's passageway. Even Prongs, who held the lamplight kissing record, did not use it more than five times since its faithful discovery.

On the one hand, it was a cool, spooky tunnel that connected the school to the nearest opium den. On the other, it was a _cool, spooky tunnel that connected the school to the nearest opium den._

It was dark, smelly and on the off chance you were neglected enough to put your hand on the wall, it would most surely come back slimy.

We put a silencing charm on the mirror, and tried our best to illuminate as much ground as we could. It was easily the largest of the passageways. Later it would narrow and lower, but under the castle it had the capacity to hold a few dozen students. 

“No shortage of space,” Sirius noted, his wand creating zigzag patterns on the walls. “No sign of a bar, either. “

“Nor tables or chairs,” I grunted, ready to write it off as another failure, when a recent memory struck my mind. 

A boy patting walls. 

With my wand clutched between my teeth, I began running my hands through the slime. The stones were bumpy, gooey and powdery. When Sirius caught sight of what I was doing, he redirected his own wand-light to the wall. 

“FYI, you’re going to need five Scourgifies before I even consider letting you anywhere near me.” 

“tsdhspagles!” I cried incoherently.

Spitting my wand out, I tried again “ it’s the sparkles!” 

If possible, Sirius looked less convinced the second time around, so ignoring his previous statement I pushed my hand under his nose.

Smears of blue sparkles mixed in a grey gel-like substance covered my fingers. 

“The night I found Prewett passed out, he was covered in _sparkles_.” I reminded him, “he must have gotten it from the walls or something…” 

I am not sure what I was expecting. Maybe that Padfoot would rush to verify my findings, jump into action and miraculously locate a secret door leading to a room filled with a more compelling evidence (furniture would be nice).

Instead, he pushed my hand away with the tip of his wand, “that is extremely gross”. 

He did, however, paced across the walls with renewal attention. Occasionally, he’d find a protruding brick and dictate that I should shove, tap or tickle it. 

In this fashion, we found out that the room was circular in shape. Eventually, though, we gave up on the walls altogether. 

We began searching the floor instead. 

“They could be setting everything up right before they meet.” Sirius offered, “a few Engorgios, maybe Wingardium Leviosa some candles, throw in music and this place can be downright nifty.”

I have a joke in mind about the club and an improper use of Engorgio, but I ended up flat on my face instead. This time, Sirius rushed over. 

I fumbled the floors, so eager, I neglected to check myself for injuries. I felt a familiar sensation across my lip, nonetheless. 

Sirius’s magic was stinging hot and brutishly ticklish. 

“What is it?”

“I am not sure,” I admitted. It wasn’t a door to a secret room filled with chairs, that much I knew. It was about three tiles up and down and whatever it was, I stumbled on its latch. 

A trap door? 

“My mom told me about places like this,” I all but whistled in amazement, “muggles’ bars that used to hide illegal liquor under floorboards…”

“Grimmauld place has a few loose tiles,” Sirius nodded, then, in the rush of a mind that was equally portioned with wonderment and recklessness, issued a breathless demand. 

“Open it.” 

I did.

My alohomora revealed a deep stashing place, packed with jars. Sirius immediate reaction was to pick one up. It was half-filled with a clear liquid, and upon being moved and marginally opened, omitted a foggy, yellow fume within the glass.

Resealing the container, Sirius put it back in place with the haste of a guilty child. We didn’t have to say it. The spice in the air was overpowering. 

It smelled like cinnamon. 

***

Sirius wanted to check the rest of the passageway, and while I was a bit cautious about our recent exposure to one of the Madam products, it was too hard to resist the pull of a promising investigation. We agreed on five more minutes, that spanned in a logarithmic fashion. The closer we got to our deadline, the faster it came, and we felt obligated to put in another five minutes, which in turn felt like three minutes, and so on.

Our low inhibition paid off, as it so often does for us marauders. We found similar hiding places, housing a variety of bootlegged substances that ranged from run of the mill firewhiskey to other, less recognizable tea leaves concoctions.

“I knew going out with you was a grand idea” Sirius roused, closing the last trap door for the day, “You, Messer Moony, have the _best_ dates ideas.”

“This was a date?” I asked, head snapping into place.

Sirius, though, was too exhilarated to waste his time on what my friends referred to as my Loopy-Lupin’ Questionnaire (Including any question that was deemed peculiar, rhetorical, obvious or too-complicated-for this-time of-day). He pulled me up, urging that we must contact Prongs right away.

“He’ll want to stage a proper stake out,” Padfoot informed, babbling our way back to the dormitory, “you know how he loves skulking.”

Innately intelligent, my friend often claimed that he was bored enough to climb (and in some mortifying instances, blow up) walls. I haven’t seen him attempt it until today. 

His limbs stretched, trying to reach every corner of the space around them. I have seen body-bind victims less enthralled by the miracle of movement.

Dumbfoundedly, I can’t tell which was more difficult to follow – My friend’s body or words. He touched and talked about everything in sight. Including me.

Mostly me.

“You do realize you were right?”

Tucking my sleeve.

“D’you reckon they use a warehouse? Bloody hell do you think _that was_ the warehouse?” 

Teasing my wrist.

“- You said it, didn’t you? They couldn’t carry that bag all through Hogsmeade…”

Bumping my thigh.

“You’d take me, obviously. No one would question it if we show up at the right spot. Prongs and Wormtail can… well, they can stay in the dorm for all I care. _We_ found it. Well, you, but I was standing right next to you.“

Sneaking into my robe’s pocket.

”I make an excellent muse, don’t I Moony?”

I entertained Padfoot in the same automatic way through all his mutterings. A grunt, a nod and a succinct affirmative - 

“Yes.”

Somehow, this time it made him stop.

As if overwhelmed (by my assurance or his own high strung pace, it was impossible to discern), Sirius went pliant against the wall. His fingers loosely caught on my robe.

“I kind of feel like kissing you right now.”

It was the second private admission Sirius divulged in two days, and it left me no less confused than his cravings for a sudsy roast beef experience.

Maybe it was the prolong proximity to the foggy jars. Maybe it was just the way Sirius’ body rearranged itself on walls.

I grunted, nodded, and wrung out the replay from a place so seething within me, it left my throat stinging raw. 

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will they??? Won't They???  
> Hint: I gallantry attempted Nanowrimo this November, and am in a desperate need for some Wolftsar (t-rated) action.


	16. Sirius Black’s new and improved plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: FLUFF. There is fluff ahead. The roads are blocked with fluff, and they all lead to fluff-town anyway.

**Chapter 15 – Sirius Black’s new and improved plan.**

(Tags. A speech. The ramifications of delayed gifts giving)

Over the last weeks, I read an embarrassing amount of romance books, and in those books there was one key plot point that never failed to appear.

Whenever the hero caught the heroine in a passionate, often spontaneous kiss, it was _always_ inevitable.

Sirius wasn’t inevitable.

In fact, I had a fair few scenarios running through my head, screaming with their hands in the air, pleading for my immediate attention. I could, for example, use the Incarcerous spell. I could run. I could remind him that we were not dating, so it was unnecessary to keep trying to snog me.

I did not have to kiss Sirius Black. 

Truth be told, it was the uncertainty that got me to put my hands on that wall. To realign myself over my friend. After all, where there were options, there were risks, and I am, at my core, a Gryffindor.

So I inched in. I closed the gap. I kissed my friend.

It unfolded, like the majority of our interactions, into a filthy conversation.

We started off with a friendly chat - we had your compulsory, if stiff small talk - reviewing the weather before digressing into private revelations. 

_This is crazy, right? I just bumped your lips._

_Yeah, but good crazy. Bloody hot crazy._

_Reckon we can expect higher pressures?_

_Oh, definitely. What about tilting? You good with the head tilting?_

_Humm, the tilting is nice. Your hair looks lovely today._

_Better fist it, then. Hey where did you go?_

_I am over here, by your ear._

_Hehe that tickles._

_Okay, okay, I am coming back, just making a quick stop at your jaw._

_Love the stubble, do ya? Wait, was that your tongue? No, no, I didn’t say stop…_

_Sorry. How about parted lips?_

_Perfect, don’t mind my hand, I am just holding down your waist for balance._

_Strong grip._

_Bad?_

_Promising. Tongue?_

_I thought you’d never ask._

_Those noises…_

_Oops. Lower volume?_

_Don’t you dare. How do I…_

_It’s that flicking thing. Drives me mad._

_Oh ye -OUCH! Whoever said a dog who barks doesn’t bite?_

_I’ll kiss it better._

_That was…_

_Yeah…_

When we part, Sirius’s head is no longer leaning against the wall; he chases and catches me over and over. We switch, and a game of Tags begins, only none of the players is keen on running away.

It happens in the middle of a stairway, where Sirius mouths at my jaw. 

My nose drags over his cheek next to the Fat Lady portrait.

A finger traces my pulse point over the common room sofa.

We stumble all the way to the dorm and into Sirius’ bed.

You’d think it’d be a buildup to a sexy climate; being pulled by your collar, collapsing on top of each other. Instead, Sirius shakes underneath me, and wriggles out with a goofy smile.

He lets me catch it, but only for a second. 

“Paws off, we still need to have a word with Prongs,” he tusks, stretching in his bed to retrieve his shard of the mirror from under a pillowcase.

That can’t be healthy.

Then again, I am the one nibbling my friend’s ear.

“I don’t care,” I decide, “Prongs can watch. He’ll probably love it.”

For however briefly, Sirius relents. He grazes my face with his knuckles and shakes his head, “I should’ve known you’d be a soppy snogger.”

He opens his palm, and pushes my face with unconvincing effort.

So, I kiss it too.

***

The other side of Padfoot and Prongs’ dysfunctional mirror was vacant.

Almost as disturbingly, the kissing had stopped.

It happened in a gradual flow of events. At first, we simply rearranged ourselves. My leg was getting numb, so I had to stretch it. Sirius flipped over and laid on his stomach. He was glaring so ferociously at his mirror, it looked like a botched, nonverbal Accio Prongs attempt.

Knowing Sirius, it probably was.

The longer he pouted, the heavier my chest became. Finally, my mind clocked in.

Contemplating my friend’s tense outline, I realized with a touch of panic that _I wanted to talk._

The need hit me like an impromptu urge for the lavatory.

Instinctively, I held it in. It made it worse, and what came out had the makings of a nasty scene. 

“I didn’t know we were dating.”

They say telling the truth will set you free, but with every micro-movement my friend made, I felt ostensibly worse.

“You-“

“I didn’t know we were dating. In Hogsmeade. Last weekend with Mcgonagall and the list. I didn’t know we were dating. I wanted to say something, you have no idea, I wanted to say something. I won’t lie to you. I had a feeling, but I wasn’t sure. Then it hit me. I was sure. It took me awhile, but I am on board. Hell, I am driving the train. We’re dating. I can own up to it now. We’re dating.”

My words pulled my friend up like a stupefied marionette. He sat and folded his legs. The string didn’t stop there. It hooked his eyebrows and tightened until I couldn’t see them anymore.

This was it. My live or die moment. Sirius would hex me to smithereens or else surrender in a bodily embrace.

He rubbed his chin.

Maybe he hadn’t decided yet.

Before Sirius spoke, he barked, “It took you _that long_ to figure it out, huh?”

***

Prongs never answered his shard of the mirror. It left Padfoot in sour state, with mild refractory periods that consisted of merciless teasing.

At times it was a touch; a bump of hips. A peck on a shoulder. A tiptoeing fingernail. When I came into a room, he’d shake his head and mumble about broom-rides and hand-holding. After particularly fruitless gawking sessions, he’d plead for me to do The Speech. 

One day, nearing the end of our vacation, his brand of teasing took an odd turn.

We were in the middle of a nasty blizzard, and I wanted nothing more than a quiet day in. Nevertheless, having composed a heartfelt letter earlier that morning, I embarked upon a trip to the owlery

_Prongs (and Wormtail, if you’re there)._

_We’ve found O.G.P.T.S.P_. _They are using the fourth-floor passageway._

_Padfoot will tell you all about it. Please let him._

_Forever in your debt,_

_Moony._

On my return to the common room, I encountered a disgruntling spectacle.

Padfoot was lying shirtless on the rug. There was a soft floodlit from the fire, so his skin shone in a mixture of city white and sunny gold.

The air was rifled with glee. A solitary, metallic _tube_ rolled to my feet.

I skipped over the offending article and sat next to the bundle of suppressed giggles.

“Padfoot…Did Marlene give you that?” 

“’t was a Christmas gift” he said immediately, “does it look really good? She said it would look _really_ good.”

“Padfoot…that’s a _tanning_ oil.”

“Yes.”

“You spray it over your skin.”

“Yes.”

“And tan.”

“Obviously. I am not a fool, Moony. I followed the instructions. I did the front first, of course, and now the back.”

Unsure, I picked up the neglected container. Most of the letters made little sense; it was written in a foreign language. French or Spanish, perhaps.

Only the brand name was in English.

_Magically Bronze._

Even by the fire, goosebumps began forming on Sirius’ back.

“Did it work yet?”

Sirius’s legs jumped up and down to an inaudible tempo. His robes were bunched like a convenient towel, so I could see the hairs stand all the way up his calves, and his muscles flex and tremor in the chilly room.

Initially, I planned to go upstairs and pretend-study in my bed for a few hours. Optimistically, backing it up with a session of stress-studying, and unavoidably, moral-raising-snack-studying. I fond out, however, that the fire was comforting, and my back molded against the sofa quite nicely.

Sirius glanced expectantly over his shoulder.

“How does it look?”

“Breathtaking.“

***

Padfoot was not happy about my little act of deception. He said I should have told him right away about the inner workings of Marlene’s gift, so when he spent an entire evening scribbling furiously in a corner, I had every reason to believe the worst.

A design for revenge was being drafted. 

I tried to take a peek, but whenever I got close he would sniff and slap me away, or else skulk into a different, darker corner of the common room.

Sometimes, he’d distract me in other ways.

I liked those ways.

So much so that I’ve stopped wondering about his secret parchment altogether.

Until the last day of Christmas break.

Then, Sirius greeted me in a straddle. I was proof reading my potion essay, so naturally, he had to fling it out of my hands and into the nearest inkblot.

“Prongs and Wormtail would be back shortly, “he announced pleasantly, as if he did not just climb into the lap of a glaring, quite irate, werewolf.

“I was working on that.”

“Did you?” He dared ask, glancing at my homework with unconvincing contrite, before thrusting his previously secretive scheme into my chest. He wobbled, so I had to stabilize him by grasping his hips.

“And this is?”

“Our new plan.” he answered flippantly, his knees pinning my thighs and his own hands clutching my shoulders for support.

The new plan dropped between us.

“We already _have_ a plan.“

“It’s an _improved_ plan.”

I frowned. A dot of dark liquid began staining my paper and smudging carefully written words. 

“Prongs will have your head if you made undocumented changes to his plan…” I warned, heedful and bemused.

I picked up Sirius’s parchment. And groaned at once.

Up on the common room table, the stain jagged at the edges of my essay, turning into a transparent, hazy blob. 

Sirius shifted, proudly waiting for my praises and declarations of utmost brilliancy. I had to close my eyes to avoid his zealous gaze. 

If I was going to go through with this madness, I needed a moment.

“You want us to _fake_ , fake dating?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that I used to HATE writing dialogues before this fic? Did I? No? well, I did, and look, I HAD to commemorate my new obsession in this pivotal chapter, mmk?
> 
> 01/03 UPDATE: Next chapter will be out this week. It's just getting pampered by my heart and soul :)


End file.
